


The Strange Attraction Syndrome

by tiffanybane



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 169,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiffanybane/pseuds/tiffanybane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much for Craig being asexual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiatonicDictator](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DiatonicDictator).



_I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way—things I had no words for._

—Georgia O'Keeffe

* * *

Something unexpected happened today.

As an art major in college, my class was given a model and we were told to warm up by drawing them. It wasn't the task that was strange, though. No, not even close. What was incomprehensibly odd was  _who_  the model was. I hadn't seen this guy in four years or more. I thought I'd gotten rid of everyone from South Park when I moved with my two best friends to Lakewood.

What the fuck was he doing here? And in my studio arts class, no less. I distinctly remembered not inviting anyone to tag along with me, Token, or Clyde when we collectively moved. Even more so than that, I recalled never saying goodbye to anyone because that's how much I cared.

God damn childhood lingerers. They were impossible to get rid of. Those fuckers from South Park stuck around for the long haul, much to my obvious dismay.

Contrary to my disdain, Kenny didn't appear to feel the same way.

He was smirking as if he were currently reading the mind of every student in the room, delving into their stash of secrets with his nosy, thought-picking mind. Hopefully he was reading mine, because my favorite secret of all time was the one about how much I hated seeing his face around my new town (as new as a town could be after four years, which was pretty damn recent) and I wanted him to know exactly how disgruntled I was at seeing him after so long.

I still had no idea where the local grocery store was and Clyde's new girlfriend needed tampons constantly. Honest to God, she had three menstrual cycles a month. Either that or she was giving them away to her fucking dog or something equally disgusting. Her pampered beagle, or whatever its breed, was in heat every other week—I swear. Asshole kept leaving stains on the floor that Token cleaned up in exchange for good ol' Craig taking charge on the tampon runs.

For emphasis, I peered around the edge of my easel to stare at the blonde head-on. He met my eye, grin stretching an arched course across his face. Through my strict features I relayed to him my message:  _Get the fuck out of my territory._  All I received was a wink in response, and I didn't like it one bit.

Glancing around, my disappointment in the less-than-existent recognition coating my classmates' features was rather abundant. I was hoping that somebody else would've known the druggie and thought of his random arrival as unusual, but instead, everyone was absorbed in his handsome exterior. Not much had changed, it seemed.

Unwillingly I relented and stuck my charcoal to paper. My hand swooped in a fluid counterclockwise rotation, estimating the size of the blonde's largely egotistical head. Maybe I could get away with a caricature that way I'd have an excuse for the blown up proportion of his face. The artist in me seemed to have a different idea, though, because as the basic central guidelines began to form, the placement of Kenny's features remained natural.

Caricatures weren't my forte, anyways. My pieces had always been realistic, borderline idealized. I was shallow for doing so, but if I had to draw you and you were ugly, you could bet that I  _made_  you attractive. Ugly just didn't work for my hands. So perhaps that was why, in regards to Kenny, I refrained from straying from what I did best.

He was a handsome man, even more so now than he had been as a teenager. Not that we had aged very far, but I still had a hard time considering myself an adult. Since I'd last seen him, the blonde had changed very little and substantially at the same time. The angles and planes of his face had sharpened, and my experienced eye picked up the differences quite well. What my vision indulged in transferred to my scribbling hand.

On my paper, the forty-five degree angle of Kenny's face shape was in the midst of coming together. His defined jawline and accenting cheekbones began to appear, along with the square protrusion of his chin and half-mast detail of his eyes. They were smoldering, the same sinful shade of blue as they'd always been. Long lashes gingerly curled, tipped up nose, permanently smirking lips; his expression tempted everyone, a useful trait of his that didn't go unnoticed.

Multiple times I caught admiration in the stares of my classmates as their eyes darted from the model to their paper, a fairly popular specimen among the girls. A beautiful subject was always a bonus, but this one had a plus: This one was flirtatious. There was a natural glimmer in his eyes, a precious reflection of light that could heighten or destroy a portrait.

If you didn't get it accurate, the model's mood might resemble anything from saddened to spontaneous. Emotion was important because that's what drew you to a piece of art. Emotion fueled an artist in general, even someone as apathetic as myself. I might not have had a tight grip on my own feelings, but I could read and determine them in others with a vivid sense of clarity. I even took pride in my insightful abilities and used them to my advantage.

Without even realizing it, I'd focused solely on Kenny's spark of charisma. The rest of his face—nose, mouth, brow, shading—remained a scribbled, sketch-like format. But his eyes, they were emphasized and dark. Half-lidded and staring back at me from two different perspectives, the real one and the unfinished version. My stomach knotted with tension and wary confusion at the double set of bedroom eyes.

What, for the love of God, did he think he was doing here? Did Clyde or Token know?

Of course they didn't, otherwise they would've told me.

And if he was here, who did that mean came with him? Kenny wasn't the type to travel alone. He needed people and in large doses.

"Craig?" Just now realizing that I'd stopped drawing completely, I tipped my head back and caught sight of my professor. "I certainly hope you'll try harder on the next model."

So there  _was_  someone else. My brows knit. I didn't like the sound of that.

"Everyone stop where you are." Kenny's eyes slid in my direction. We locked gazes and I narrowed my eyes to let him know I didn't appreciate whatever he was planning. "Your warm-up's over. Get a fresh sheet of paper ready. Another model will be in shortly." It was just the question of who that model was.

Flipping to a new, unmarred canvas I called out, "Kenny. Get over here."

He slid like syrup from his stool and sauntered over to my station like a ghost, near levitating. "It's been a while, Craigy-poo." Of course the first words out of his mouth after four years of cut-off communication would involve my pet name.

"Not long enough." To be blunt, there would never be an amount of time that would be considered enough. When I had left South Park, I left thinking that I'd never seen any of its occupants again. Running away in a sense, cold turkey, had been easy. That town wasn't meant to let people grow. There was nothing there for me, Token, or Clyde.

"How have you been, buddy?"

Immediately I retorted with, "How did you find me?" If he admitted to interrogating my parents for an address, I'd kill the traitorous fuckers.

Kenny's features smoothed out in a serene sense of amusement. "Is that really important?"

"No, I suppose not. You're here, so there's not much I can do about that. Who did you drag along with you?"

Instead of answering me, the blonde brought back the large sheet of paper with his eyes practically engraved into it. A flattered smirk graced his mouth. "Is this all you see when you look at someone? You're going to have a field day with your next..." He searched for a word that wouldn't ruin my second surprise guest. "Let's just call him a muse."

 _Him._  Kenny had brought a guy along on his escapade. I scoured through my memories to find a person who suited the part, someone dumb enough to go searching for me after four years. All I could really think of was Cartman, and if he showed up, then I was most definitely drawing him as he came. I didn't care what my hands wanted to do. If that fatass showed up, he was going to be ugly on my canvas.

After snorting out a clipped "Muse, eh?", the sound of a door opening jarred me from the current conversation. Whereas Cartman's large bulk was supposed to come through the threshold, something many fractions tinier and much more dainty tip-toed in instead.

I... had not been expecting this.

" _Surprise_ ," Kenny cooed.


	2. Chapter Two

_No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist._

—Oscar Wilde

* * *

"Tweek?" I asked, half incredulous half waiting for the punchline. "You brought  _that_  kid with you to find me?"

Before an answer could be given, my quirky professor said, "Conté draw this spazzy kid I commissioned".

_Commissioned?_  Confusion chortled like a gnat at the forefront of my mind. Glancing back to inquire an answer from Kenny, I turned my head around only to see that he was no longer present. Damn illusive blonde and his stockpile full of never-ending 'surprises'.

Righting my position, I picked up one of my conté pencils—a charcoal based utensil that produced sepia toned colors—and waited for the professor to finish situating Tweek in his stool.

He was just as jittery as he used to be, fumbling in his seat while attempting to stay calm. It was hard to imagine that he hadn't changed at all. Issue wise, at least. He'd had psychiatric help for as long as I could remember, so the least he should've been able to do was sit still.

Four years was missing, though. What if during that time he'd lost it?

Maybe he was just permanently fucked up. That didn't sound too far from the truth, and I guessed the nervous blonde was far better than Cartman. Returning the pad of my canvas paper to a blank page, I resumed watching distrustfully.

My professor had switched up the angles, turning Tweek in a way that gave me a profile view of him. Looking at his features gave me two topics to ponder on: How much he'd changed in general and how he varied from Kenny. As I began to sketch the basics just as I had with the other blonde, my brain recalled Tweek's younger appearance.

None of his features had sharpened, for he wasn't angular with definitive figures like Kenny, but rather they'd defined in minute ways that still kept him boyish. Soft, almost. From the side it was harder to place where he'd aged, but the task wasn't impossible. I could spot where his nose had grown and mouth shaped, where his jaw was sculpted, but not in a masculine way.

Drawing him felt easy, the same as it was hard. Babies and children were more difficult due to the way shadows practically slid from their skin with no wrinkles or growth points to latch onto. Tweek was nearly considered so, except he had just enough definition to put himself past that point of difficulty.

He had a few strange qualities about him, though. Characteristics that my hand was magnetized to, and I found myself tracing over the same lines just so I could draw them over again. The slope of his large almond eye was downcast, and the slant of his slender brow fell into perfect unison with that drop. His mouth was set in a natural pout, his top almost indistinctly  _fuller_  than his bottom. It was very odd, but I thought that if I looked at him from the front, it'd give him the disguise of a baby animal.

His nose sloped downwards and reminded me of those Navi people from that Avatar movie—the blue ones. The only thing that seemed uplifting about him were his lashes. Some randomly placed stands were lighter, a dusty shade of blonde. His hair was also much fairer than Kenny's. It had an insipid tone and was styled in the same disarray as always, only longer now. I was sure the choppy cut of his feathered locks framed his face from the front, just as it did his profile, hugging closely to his cheeks and the nap of his slim neck.

Every now and then I'd randomly catch him glancing my way, and every time he did, his breath turned erratic all over again. It was like he was doing it purposefully. He would calm himself down only to look at me and send himself into hysterics.

The emotion for him ended up being nervous anticipation.

By the end of the class period, even though I had a detailed portrait full of shading and personality, I felt cheated. I'd done profiles before, so I didn't understand why I felt like my time had been wasted, but this one simple drawing just didn't feel like enough to me.

"Alright, guys. Time's almost up. Finish what you can."

_Yeah, definitely just got cheated_ , my thoughts grumbled.

Tweek's heavy shoulders released a weighted ton of tension when he was given the go-ahead to end his little 'commissioned modeling session'— _very_ suspicious. He dropped himself from the stool, too short to reach the floor from his sitting position, and was about ready to high-tail it out of the classroom or to wherever Kenny had run off, but I stopped him before he could get that far.

"You're not going anywhere." My hand was clasped around one his lithe arms, fingers overlapping. His limb was so thin, even in his jacket.

Like whiplash, his head rapidly turned around. Our eyes locked and his cheeks erupted with a pink undertone. "C-Craig..." His anxious gaze darted over the length of my body. "I—uh. You changed."

"Yeah," I agreed sarcastically. "Well, it's been four years."

Seeing him face forward was like seeing him from the side times ten. He was the most exotic featured boy I'd ever seen in my entire life. Now that he'd grown into himself since I'd left, it hit me just how much four years could do to a person, physically speaking.

I didn't want to call him animalistic—that just made him sound primal—but I couldn't keep owls or kittens or mice from coming to mind while looking at him.

"I should—" His glance skirted toward the strict grip I had around his bicep. "I should go find Kenny."

When he tried to walk away, he remained confined in my grasp. " _We_ should go find Kenny."

Quickly, he objected. "But you have school."

Just as fast, I informed him: "I've got some spare time before my next class. Or did you honestly think you could show up, actually let me know you're here, and then run away?"

Letting him go, I pushed him in the direction of the door. "Yeah, I did," he confessed, rubbing his arm. I hadn't grabbed him that hard, though. Tweek had just always been a weakling.

"Pretty sure Kenny's keeping the big secret from me," I started, following him out the door. He fumbled with his hands for a moment before shoving them into the pockets of his hooded jacket. "So why don't you go ahead and fill me in, yeah? What the hell are you two doing in Lakewood?"

"Your g-guess is as good as mine."

What I didn't like was how honest that answer was.

* * *

Chasing Tweek through the halls of my school—all of which he's never been before, but I didn't give him directions because I thought it was humorous watching him get lost—led us to the quaint cafe bistro located at the center.

So Kenny had skirted away to the place where girls frolicked in their free time. Predictable.

My college as a whole was a clean, fresh place. The halls were spacious, the classrooms practically nitpicked spotless. The building was meticulous and even the staff portrayed its cleansed quality. For an art school, it made such a talent seem orderly.

Windows were a greatly accented aspect. Floor to ceiling open spaces were quite popular throughout the hallways, and in every classroom there was a motivating view of the Colorado landscape. Every school day was refreshing, affecting each student positively. This was a place that did wonderful things; this was a place that wasn't South Park. Compared to that town, Lakewood was a polar opposite.

The cafe was a common area, especially for Token, Clyde, and myself. We ate there regularly since the three of us were enrolled together, and although we had different majors, our schedules somehow aligned quite nicely. The food was simple yet tasteful, the employees radiated energy, every customer was lively, and every time I walked in and got a whiff of the savory undertone permeating from the kitchen, I just felt plain old good.

Upon entering, my eye instantly found the charismatic blonde at a booth, chatting away with a few girls who were giggling, secretly encouraging him to continue his flirtatious act. Even after four years he was as devious as ever. I was certain he'd already gotten their numbers, possibly a virginity or two if I really wanted to exaggerate.

Trafficking my way through the immaculately placed tables, I headed toward the perverse man. Tweek followed like my shadow, keeping close to my heels. "Times up, Kenny," I growled as I approached. Whatever conversations were procuring paused when the blonde lifted his eyes to mine. "It's time to spill whatever your ulterior motive is."

"Ulterior motive?" He repeated innocently,  _pft_ ing just to spite me. "Why don't you sit down and we can converse over coffee and muffins or something? I'm sure Tweek would love that." He added "And the girls are friendly," with a playful wink in their direction.

"I know they're friendly," I stated, pointing a finger at the blonde. "You tried to get in my pants at Jaron's party." To the other I said, "And you backed her up."

The aforementioned blonde perked up and crowed, "I knew you looked familiar!" She wasn't even modest, or ashamed, seeing as she didn't get very far. Even drunk I couldn't get it up.

"How could we forget you?" Her redheaded friend giggled. "You were such a sweetheart."

"Craig? A sweetheart?" Kenny repeated, motioning for Tweek to take a seat next to him. He sat down cautiously, mouth shut tight like he was afraid to say anything. I grabbed the one opposite him, next to the only blonde who was a girl.

"Yep! He took care of us." She lifted a forkful of salad to her lips, covering her hand with her mouth to be polite.

I decided to explain just so that Kenny wouldn't get any stupid ideas. "They were wasted. Threw up all over me, too. I took them home."

"We gave you our numbers too," the blonde added, pouting teasingly. "But you never called."

"I'm not interested."

Kenny overdid a wince of an expression. "Always so brutally honest, Craig. Your personality hasn't changed at all. Or your sex drive."

"Holla," I blandly joked. "Now how about you quit stalling and tell me what the fuck you're doing here?"

"Just visiting." That answer was about as anticlimactic as they got.

"You're lying." The girls were watching now, munching on their salads like their lettuce and dressing was popcorn. I wasn't sure why I couldn't find myself attracted to them, but I gave up on questions like that a long time ago. My hormones just didn't respond to people, simple as that.

"No," he corrected, leaning back against the booth. "You just want me to be lying because you're confused."

"And pissed." I leaned back myself and it was like we were competing over who could appear the most nonchalant. "I left South Park hoping that I'd never see anyone's face from there again. But after four years, you randomly find me, and bring Blondie along with you, so don't think you're going to get away with this, because your behavior is suspicious."

"You're going to hurt Tweek's feelings—"

Not wanting to hear any more of his bullshit, I cut him off.

"Tweek's an adult, Kenny. Treat him like one." And then I decided to tell him that I knew how he played his game; I knew it almost better than anyone. "I _know_  you, dude. You don't do anything without having a god damn good reason, so just admit that you came here for whatever the cause."

His eyes squinted in satisfaction, but I wasn't sure why. For all I knew, he probably just stopped by to see if I still knew how cunning he was, and Tweek was just his pawn to throw me off guard. He had the type of egotism that liked to be reassured in strange ways.

When he said "You've always been able to pick up small details," I honestly didn't know how to react. What did he expect me to say to that? Nothing at all, obviously, because then he said, "But so have I."

In the blonde's estrange form of language, that was equivalent to admitting that I was right: He'd come here for a specific reason.

For now, that would have to satiate me.

Kenny was like the universe with all of the hidden knowledge in the world. He told you what you needed to know, when you needed to know it. But never anything more than that. His dictatorship wasn't ill. The blonde was irrevocably smart and intuitive. You could trust yourself with Kenny, and that was the only reason why I allowed for him to explain so little at that moment.

"So," the redheaded girl threw out. "How do you guys all know each other?"

My mood dimmed at her poorly timed question. "Childhood friends, I suppose," I grumbled out, staring across the table at Tweek. He didn't even appear to be paying attention and wouldn't look in the direction of any of us. Instead, he stared forlornly out at the half-filled cafe.

I couldn't begin to fathom what he was thinking, but something was nagging at him, and I wondered if it was about the visit. Had he volunteered to come? Did he know that he would be meeting me again? What was going on back home that he'd left? And with Kenny of all people. I was supposing that they'd come alone. Why?

Earlier Kenny had mentioned something about eyes before Tweek had been presented to the class as though I'd have a field day with the petite blonde's. Observing him from the front I understood what he'd meant. Tweek's eyes were measurably large and doe-like. They were certainly the focal point of his entire face, a pallid tint of green that was unmistakably rare. He looked like a doll, like a statue that didn't move.

He'd be perfect to capture in a drawing. I liked challenges, odd features that made you second guess, and Tweek had a cacophony of those. I'd been cheated the first time, and I didn't think that the blonde would be a model again after today, so I thought I deserved another chance. In fact, whether I did or not, I was going to get it.

"I've got to get to class," I muttered, pushing myself from the booth. Tweek watched, finally looking away from his distraction. To make a point, I stopped and said specifically to him, "You should stick around for a while." But as I began to leave, I didn't feel as though that was good enough. So I turned back around. "You look weird," I explained briefly. "I'd like to draw you sometime."

After that, I really did leave.


	3. Chapter Three

_The heart is not a rational organ._

—sure wish I knew

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

There wasn't anybody that existed who was like him, I told myself as Craig Tucker wandered away. Even after four years of constant separation, and even before that it wasn't like we'd ever been connected in any way, he was still the only one like himself. I felt like I could find another Stan or Kyle anywhere. Even Kenny or Thomas or Butters.

Craig was too individual to have a copy. I recollected a time during sophomore year where some guy had tried to fight him in the locker room, something about having beef with Clyde and he'd leave Craig bloodied and beaten as a warning. In response, Craig had promptly pulled out his phone, turned it on to the camera recorder, and told some freshman to get good angles before saying to the guy, "Have at it." Later, Kenny told me that the two best friends had been laughing over the footage, Craig donning his new black eye and bruised ribs, Clyde taking absolutely no warning from what went down.

It never went around—the video, not the news—for it was exclusively just a memory for the two to humor. For some reason, I kind of respected Craig for that. I also envied him for taking so many punches without making a noise and not once fighting back. He had no hard feelings, never even ratted on the guy, though someone anonymously fibbed and Clyde's enemy was suspended for three weeks.

And some Friday afternoons Craig would mosey down my street walking Stripe. It was the most adorable scene I've ever had the honor of witnessing. This stoic, unmovable block of a presence wandering around town with a thin black leash and a miniature body of fat and fluff attached to the other end. He'd do it with an air of regularity as though everyone took their guinea pigs out for exercise. I ended up doing my homework at the kitchen table every Friday where I could stare out the window and involuntarily distract myself in the hopes that I'd see him.

I knew from Kenny that he drug tested himself after every incredibly weird dream just to see whether or not he'd taken any hallucinogens. Supposedly it was entertaining for him when it showed up positive, because that most likely meant he had actually lived through the experience rather than subconsciously dreamt it. He would do his sister's laundry, fold her clothes and put them away—even her underwear; he used to work in his dad's car garage as a mechanic which wasn't necessarily strange but it  _was_  fucking sexy. I could see him being a grease monkey.

From the same source—but it wasn't like I had ever _asked_  Kenny for all of this information—I learned that Craig only ate homemade noodles and bread, forced his mom into making different flavored jams with him when she'd had a bad day, had a strict set of taste buds and never ate fast food, wanted to grow a handlebar mustache one day as well as own a Rolls Royce, and when he was younger he'd taken courses to learn gentleman's etiquette.

He was one of a kind, just like me. And when he was gone, my pulse beat like a hail storm in my veins. It hurt like one, too.

Nothing hurt as bad as it had when he left, though.

When Craig, Clyde, and Token disappeared from South Park, nobody had really known what to do with themselves for a while. It was like there was this void where the douche bag, jock, and hospitable friend were supposed to be—and then in the next instant it was like they hadn't been there to begin with. People didn't forget, but they treated the three like they'd only been visiting our town from the start. Like everyone knew they'd leave eventually.

The only thing was that everyone thought South Park was impossible to abandon. Families came in, but nobody ever went out. So it was a shock when it finally happened, and even more detrimental when they never came back. I remembered the rest of high school, when I just sat there and thought about how they  _had_  to return. But they were fine on their own, I guessed, because that return never came.

For the last three years I tried to forget. Instead, all I managed was to feel the hindrance of loneliness and like I was missing out on something better than what I already had. I couldn't leave—my psychiatrist and the coffeehouse were in South Park—so I'd attempted to get better, because at the very least, the best I could do was eliminate at least _something_  that was wrong with me.

Doing that had landed me a permanent spot in the aforementioned 'getting better'. For the past year, that's where I've been.

And then Kenny offered me a road trip, said that I needed to get away because I was twenty and still couldn't take care of myself. I had naively obliged, and somehow we ended up here in Lakewood. Part of me thought it was all his plan to begin with, and when I'd told Craig that his guess was as good as mine, I had honestly meant it, but the other part is just never sure—another thing I've been 'working on' to 'get better'.

Life kind of sucked when you were crazy and attached yourself to a human who wanted to be nothing but insignificant to the world. To everyone in it. But he couldn't be insignificant to me, not after so much of my time has been cradled in this undying crush I have for him.

He looked so different, too. The Craig I remembered wore nothing but ragtag clothes, and sure, of course they looked good on him—anything would look good on him—but he hadn't  _cared_. Rips in the knees, short sleeves in winter; it was all the same to him. Yet what I saw of him today, it made me wonder. How much of himself had he withheld as we grew up? As he waited for the opportunity to get out and grow where he actually belonged. Because Craig really hadn't been able to flourish in South Park.

"C-Craig wants to draw me," I mused. The words didn't feel right in my mouth. Why would anyone want to ruin a good piece of paper by putting my face on it? I already felt bad enough that an entire class full of papers had been wasted earlier. Had Kenny not tricked me, I wouldn't have done it. A tree would've been saved.

"That's quite the compliment," Kenny smugly said to me. My face was beginning to heat up as a blush spread across my cheeks.

I hadn't even known that Craig liked to draw. Some admirer I was. I didn't know the first thing about the noirette besides the little tidbits Kenny fed me.

Actually, that was a lie. Everyone knew the first thing about Craig and that was— _had been_ —Stripe.

That guinea pig was— _used to be_ —more precious to him than his own dick. But he was gone now and it made me curious as to whether or not art was Craig's way of coping.


	4. Chapter Four

_When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college―that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared at me, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?"_

―Howard Ikemoto

* * *

"Guess who showed up in my studio arts class today as models," I inquired, idly twisting a few of Clyde's chestnut locks between my fingers. We were sitting on the couch in our living room. Token was beside me, legs strewn atop the coffee table. We were waiting for Clyde's girlfriend to finish cooking dinner.

"Mmm," the brunette mused, most likely to figure out the answer to Jeopardy rather than my announcement. "The answer is clearly obvious. I don't know why this dumb fuck isn't getting it. It's Lady Godiva, god damn it! Who is Lady Godiva!"

"Were they nude?" Token asked, always one to pay attention because he was a good best friend.

I thought back to Kenny and Tweek and snickered at the thought of having to draw them naked. "No, thank God. Haven't seen them in a while, so, you know, rekindling over their naked bodies would've been kind of weird." I purposefully put in the part about not having seen them for quite some time just to pique his interest. And pique it did, indeed.

"We know them? That's interesting."

"Lady Godiva, you fucking idiot!" Clyde cried, throwing his hands up in anger at the television. I found it an amusing coincidence that Jeopardy fit in quite nicely to my own little guessing game.

"How long has it been? I hope it wasn't that couple from that dorm party." Strangely, I'd rather have actually kept Kenny and Tweek compared to the dorm party couple. They were some of the creepiest people I've ever met, and they didn't even go to our college. I wanted to know who the douche bag that invited them had been.

"Nope. Think back about four years."

"No way, dude," Token responded, skeptic. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I kid you not." Tossing my head around, I looked at him with a serious expression. "Tweek and Kenny."

Shaking his head, my friend grinned bitterly. "Kenny fucking McCormick. That bastard. Of course."

"That's what I said," I agreed ruefully. They were a pretty unforgettable duo, not that they went together. The two were complete opposites. "He's hitting up all the ladies. Making his mark on our school. We should haze him."

"What? He's not going there is he?" Actually, I hadn't thought of that before.

"I highly doubt it. But if he is, we're moving to Denver."

Unceremoniously, Clyde jolted out of his seat and abused the air with numerous blows from his fists. He threw a leg in there somewhere but it was lost when he started screaming something that had to with the show he was watching. A commercial aired, causing him to quickly return to his seat and ask, "The gay one?"

"We don't know a gay Kenny," I told him. "Sexual deviant of every kind, animal and human, yes." And then it occurred to me that he was referring to Tweek. "Is that kid gay? I figured he was just a late bloomer." Although the switch didn't make much sense, Token and Clyde understood that I was now on the same page as them. Clyde shrugged his shoulders.

"Definitely looked gay back in the day," he said. "Know what I mean?"

Token nodded his head. "I guess you can just tell when it comes to certain people."

"Like Butters. He came out of the womb sucking dick. He'll die with one in his mouth, too. I swear it. I'll even go to his open casket funeral just to see."

Now that kid easily was forgettable.

"Mmm." I mimicked Token's nod. "Now that you mention it, Tweek did look pretty buttfuckalicious today." My two friends laughed at my coinage and Clyde's girlfriend peered into the room to give me a look. I was being serious, though. Four years had done Tweek good, but he would stay soft-featured for the rest of his life.

That wasn't a bad thing, either. Soft could be desirable depending on who you were. It gave off a boyish innocence when it came to Tweek. But perhaps that was because he _did_  have innocence. He looked like the virgin-for-life type of a kid, possibly with a case of I'm-supposed-to-be-religious-so-I-can't-have-my-parents-finding-a-wiener-in-my-bed.

Settling back against my side, Clyde crisscrossed his legs and let one rest on top of my thigh. "Well, I'll go ahead and say this much: If Kenny comes close to my girlfriend," the brunette glanced around threateningly before settling a determined stare my way, "it is your destiny to fend him off."

Of course he left his girlfriend under my care. He always did. She was technically  _my_  woman. She and I often joked about it, and now I was beginning to believe it.

Jeopardy came back on and Clyde gave the television his full attention.


	5. Chapter Five

_The artist does not see things as they are, but as he is._

—Alfred Tonnelle

* * *

They showed up again, this time after class. Kenny was waiting for me outside the door, and the moment I exited the classroom, he snagged my belt loop to drag me around some back routed journey through my school. He led me to places I didn't even know existed; I passed students I would never have thought were enrolled. Courses I never heard of were taking place.

This was basically everything that Kenny was and more. He was the type of guy who only ever taught you something new, and I was certainly broadening my horizons when I found out there was an Equestrian facility full of classes about horsemanship and veterinarian studies at my college. Classes like that made me feel inferior, like painting and drawing just weren't up to par with learning how to train a show horse. Damn animals were stealing my thunder.

With my pants still snagged, the blonde slipped out a door that led to the parking lot located in the back of the building. I followed him dutifully, curiosity being the only reason why I didn't ditch him and head to my next class. A rush of chilly autumn air swarmed us like we were the criminals and the weather was the swat team. I guessed we were armed criminals, too, because the swat team  _hurt_. Something akin to gloom devoured my mood as I realized that the season would only get worse for it was changing into winter.

Tweek was curled in on himself, huddled near the door to escape the worst of the wind. His arms were crossed, head bowed, hair rustling like a wild lion's mane. He hadn't dressed for the occasion, I noticed. The dark jacket he wore was thin and his jeans had rolled hems. When he heard the commotion of the door, he inclined his head. The tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks were rosy.

"You could've waited inside," Kenny teased, disentangling his finger from my clothing. "You always choose the situation that will effect you the worst. Did you know that?"

"Don't remind me," the petite blonde muttered. He dared a glance in my direction, looking everywhere but my eyes.

"Why am I out here?" I asked in the hopes of receiving an equally blunt answer. It irritated me whenever Kenny tried to beat around the bush, both in the past as well as the present. My eyes couldn't quite find a way to detach themselves from Tweek's person as I spoke.

My offer from yesterday was still lingering in my memory, and his wind-bitten features would've looked wonderful on paper, locked away forever. A photograph of sorts. The movement of his hair and the tightness of his body, how shy his expression was. Everything was adding up and I wanted to know why an easel wasn't set up outside for instances like these.

I did have a sketchbook, though. Not that many pages were left, although I was sure I could find some space for an old acquaintance, and my pencil kind of fucking sucked, but there wasn't much I could do about that one.

Just when Tweek was about to remove himself from the wall, body tensed in mid-turn, I pointed at him and strictly said, "Don't fucking move." He froze as though a bug the size of his dainty body was about ready to suck his innards out. If I had time, I'd draw in a human-sized spider for my own amusement.

Dropping down into a cross-legged sit on the pavement, I propped my sketchbook on my knee and hunkered over the blank sheet of paper. My hand began to rapidly scribble, marking the settlement of his features without very much detail to distinguish them. This wasn't going to be a masterpiece or anywhere near commemorative, but I still wanted to remember the moment. Maybe I could go in later and finish it from memory.

"W-What are you doing?" Tweek asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "C-Craig?"

"Stop doing that," I ordered, eyes flickering briefly toward his mouth. He dropped his nervous act instantly.

Kenny rounded my side, peering over my shoulder to see what I was busying myself over. I imagined he was smirking for whatever reason insightful bastards like him smirked. His energy radiated against my back, much too close for comfort.

Tweek tried to gather an answer from a new perspective. "I-It's cold." I almost felt bad since it  _was_  pretty dank out, but he would have to deal with it until I got the proportions of his figure marked. "Craig, what are you doing?"

"I'm fucking drawing you, dude. Calm down for a second, alright?" But my temper had already flared, causing my hand to clench involuntarily. The action made a deep, dark line stretch across my paper, utterly ruining it. "Great. Beautiful. Fucking awesome." Ripping the sheet out, I crumpled it up. And then I tore its bunched up body into two. "Just forget about it."

"Still as feisty as usual, I see," Kenny remarked. His nonchalant tone was really starting to rub me the wrong way.

Kneeling down beside me, he picked up the identical pieces of trash. Maybe he'd burn them and set himself on fire.

One could only hope.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I asked for the final time, "What the fuck are you two doing here?"

"I'm so sorry," Tweek stumbled forward, vision teary from the rush of the wind. Seeing them so glassy and bright urged my inner artist to redo my demolished sketch. To keep myself from the temptation I threw my pencil into the parking lot. Another look at his face and I wanted to scrabble back out and get it.

He was closer now, near enough for me to consider the rare oddity of his eyes. They were green, a cystalesque color that wasn't  _even_  a color. It was a tint, just a pinch of emerald in a splash of white. If I could paint him, if I could create a hue similar to his eyes, that would be just lovely. Fuck the pencil. I needed a brush. When did this stupid blonde kid turn into something so neat? Because I distinctly remembered him being a complete weirdo four years ago.

"Don't worry about it." My voice trailed off as I began to think. How could I get him back to my apartment without sounding creepy? Or like I wanted to buttfuck his corpse after murdering him.

Crouching on his knees, Tweek held out his hesitant hands and motioned toward my sketchpad with the delicacy you'd give to a terrified child. Maybe he thought this was like my diary, or maybe  _he_  was the terrified one, still wary of my outburst just seconds ago.

I handed it over knowing that there were no secrets on any of the pages. It was back at my apartment that personal matters were confronted on canvas and paper. Not that I had much to deal with, but privacy was privacy and if I wanted to hide what occurred in my dreams from others, then I would do just so, and that's exactly what I did. Dreams were my source of inspiration, always plentiful.

Flipping through my sketchbook, Tweek's lips quirked upward, an action that was too smooth to be conscious. I could see from where I was seated in front of him what he was looking at. There were pages filled with little things like animals or nature, sometimes a hairstyle would come about—old ones like pompadours and marcelled hair—because I found them to be intriguing when drawn; and then there were other more detailed pieces of what I could remember from Stripe, Clyde when he was thinking with his forehead creased, Token, and aspects of others that I found interesting like mouths or bones or shoes.

There was variety and array in that sketchbook. I supposed I was proud of it, but I couldn't stop tracing over the subtle lines of Tweek's strange face. Wisps of his breath were visible in the air, a foggy substance that dispersed into invisibility. This was what I did when I wanted to remember something vital. I drew it with my eyes and put it on the canvas of my memory. It was a photographic technique that I'd always had and was probably the catalyst to my natural talent.

When I'd learned that I could actually  _see_  something in an object—a bug, a building, a person—my skill had begun to develop. And somehow I'd ended up skipping my class to come out into the cold so I could stare at this guy from my past as though I could roll him up and stick him on a piece of paper. His features were just so goddamn  _captivating_ , and there was so much emotion in his eyes that I wanted it to overwhelm me when I drew him—and I would. This odd human phenomenon wasn't escaping me.

"You should come to my place," I told him, ignoring the evident shock on his pleasantly featured face. My sketchbook was like nothing to him compared to my offer. His cheeks tinted, a color that would've long since appeared had it been from the cold. Blushing must've been his trademark. "Since I'm obviously not going to my next class, I've got plenty of time to start a drawing―" Watching his features crumple, I asked, "What?"

Clearing his throat, the blonde took his time by shuffling through a few more pages of my sketchbook. "Why do you want to draw me? You h-have a beautiful talent. Don't waste it on me. Your entire c-class already did that, so..."

I stared at him like he was stupid. "Have you see how weird you look?" Kenny started laughing somewhere behind me.

Tweek's eyes went imperceptibly wide, his expression guarded. He thought I was making fun of him. "Thanks for b-being honest, I guess. Uhm." He looked around for a distraction.

"I don't draw ugly people," I stated, just to clear the tension.

Kenny cracked up all over again and I turned around to stare at him. He was hunched over with an arm across his stomach, dabbing at his eyes with the other. "'You look weird,'" he repeated to humor himself all over again. "'I don't draw ugly people.' I've missed you Craig, I really have."

"Keep dicking around and you're not invited. I know you're dying to see my house."

While Kenny wasn't deterred, Tweek asked, astounded, "You have a  _house_?"

Shaking my head I told him, "That was a fib. It's an apartment. Clyde, Token, and Clyde's woman live with me." He didn't necessarily look like he felt left out, but perhaps it was envy. I wondered if he still lived with his parents. "Oh, and Julibee, the woman's beagle thing. They're both on their period." Why I felt the need to inform them about that, I'd never know. Maybe I just didn't want to suffer alone.

Slapping my shoulder, Kenny said, "Lead the way then, Craigy-poo." I stood up, casting a short glance toward Tweek who looked terrified by the other blonde's eager agreement. Defeated, he closed my sketchbook and held it against his chest as the two started following me into the parking lot. I didn't even think to take it back from him.

"Escorting us there in your car?" Kenny crooned, patting my vehicle as he walked along its perimeter. There wasn't much to it, just a black automobile that was nothing more than alright. A penis was drawn on one of the windows, though, with a catch-line that read,  _honk if you want to suck it_. Clyde had partied too hard one night and thought he'd be an even bigger douche bag than he already was. Vulgar art on my car was a result of that.

"Unless you want to walk," I offered, pitching my thumb toward Tweek. "We might need to carry this ice cube with us for a couple of blocks, though." The frozen blonde quickly declined my suggestion for both himself and Kenny who was smirking deviously. As I unlocked my car, he curled his finger toward Tweek, shoving him into shotgun when he was close enough to reach.

The stereo came on as my car bustled to life. Sounds from a time of rejuvenation and structure that would never occur, not ever again, pilfered through the speakers. "The Lovin' Spoonful," Kenny observed, leaning into the space between the two front seats. "Still an old man, I see."

Turning down the volume, I shifted my car into reverse, and peered around the blonde's mop of bedraggled locks to keep from backing into someone's unfortunate bumper. Contradicting his old man comment, I told him, "That was the first time people were actually alive." The oldies. The 50s and 60s. A golden age of extraordinary entertainment.

"So what timeline are you trying to fit into?" I noticed both blondes speculating me as I exited campus and started toward my apartment. I liked tailored suits and blazers, pressed trousers and shoes with leather wingtips, pointed toes and Cuban heels. My short shirt sleeves were always double cuffed and I had a thing for bow ties rather than any regular old tie. When someone classy sat down, when the hem of their sleek pants hiked, when their slender ankles showed and so simply all attention was brought to their footwear—that was perfection to me.

"I wear what I like." On lazy days I wore Clyde's cut-offs and sometimes I even put on Token's fancy pants, those stylish jeans that were just fabulous for a black man as keen as him. I owned leather jackets and cardigans and somewhere there was a pair of sweats. When I appeared not to understand his question, Kenny flicked my ear, and that seemed to explain everything. I had gauges, nothing wider than the lobe of my ear, but it definitely wasn't 50s or 60s material. "I like gauges."

"And this haircut," Kenny added, shuffling his fingers through my thick black locks. It was short and pliable enough to stick up where he'd pushed it from my face but with enough length to do spiffy stuff with it. The last time Clyde, Token, and I had participated in a best friend throwdown—a term used to describe the three of us getting belligerently drunk with each other—they'd given me a John Travolta pompadour. It looked sexy—not gunna lie.

"I do cool stuff with it," I explained, allowing him to mess with it some more as I turned into my apartment complex. Living ten minutes away from college had its advantages, most definitely. When we were feeling up to it, my two best friends and I would walk to school; it was nice just being able to hang out with them so simplistically.

Pulling away from Kenny's probing fingers, I ducked out of my car and waited for the other two to exit before I locked the doors. I started heading for the closest set of stairs where I was followed up two flights. Tweek ungracefully tripped on the last set, blushing bashfully when he was laughed at by Kenny. Heading past a few doors, we came up to an odd number on the right side. I opened it without contemplation or hesitation, knowing that Clyde's girlfriend was always home on Fridays.

After stepping inside, I called out to the woman, "I'm home, beautiful!" Julibee flung her pint sized body from the couch, white-tipped tail wagging like whiplash. "Make sure you're modest for our guests!" She tended to take after me and walk around naked.

I looked more closely at the dog.

_That's not Julibee._

As I lowered to my knees, I met the beagle face to face. It had a wishbone pattern of white on its face like Julibee, floppy ears with dark patches like Julibee, and four white paws like Julibee. "You have a penis," I said to it, stunned by this sudden transformation as it licked my cheeks excitedly.

And then out from the hall shot a wet, soapy dog. Clyde's girlfriend could be heard clearly screaming from the bathroom, sloshing liquid beneath her vocalized cry. Julibee left soggy paw prints on the carpet and shook out her fur right next to me before fighting for my attention with her male counterpart. I wrapped my arms around both of them, receiving kisses in unison from the two, and all the while I was just too confused to do anything else but endure.

Stumbling out of the bathroom came Clyde's latest catch, a petite girl with identical chestnut tresses. I thought of her as my favorite lady he's ever had because they both had the same rosy cheeks and similar personalities. She could be treated like one of the guys and never feel any less womanly about herself. Supposedly her boobs were awesome, and if I really wanted to know so then all I'd have to do was stare at them in her water-saturated sports bra, but I couldn't bring myself to care—especially with Julibee and Julibob in my lap.

" _Hi_ _!_ " She greeted enthusiastically, pretending not to notice the two dogs as she shook Kenny and Tweek's hands, inviting them further into the room and shutting the door. She made the mistake of looking down at me, witnessing the same stony expression I gave to Clyde when he tried to tell me he'd paid the bills. "Isn't he cute?" She asked, her voice one of sweetness and  _please forgive me_.

"No fucking way," I groaned, closing my eyes tiredly. She wanted to  _keep_  him. First the two blonde mutts showed up unexpectedly and now the masculine version of Julibee just as, if not more, sudden. "I swear to God if you tell me you found him on the street―"

"I didn't," the brunette chirped.  _You're so fucking lucky_ , I warned her telepathically. Had she said yes, I wouldn't have been able to let him go. But if she stole him from someone's house or generously adopted him from a friend then we could return him. "I bought him!"

My faith in her crumbled. Clyde needed to break up with her _―now_.

Not only was I soaking wet from being Julibee's towel and Julibob's person spit collector, but Tweek crouched down beside me and encompassed the dry beagle's big ears with his dainty hands.

"He's cute," he told me, smiling like it was the only thing he could do correctly. It was so straight and symmetrical that my eyes were examining his lips in search for his secret.

Tweek Tweak had just turned into that much more of an anomaly.


	6. Chapter Six

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know  
My weakness I feel I must finally show_

—Mumford and Sons, Awake My Soul

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Craig's apartment was strangely  _cute_. Everything matched from their half circle of a couch, plush cushions of which looked like giant cotton balls, to their spherical kitchen table with its crescent chairs. I liked how everything was organized—multiple game consoles with arranged cords, movies in alphabetical order on a rack, homework and books stacked neatly in four specific piles—and it smelt cleanly lived in.

The floors and walls were neutral tones, spotless save for a drawn portrait Craig must've done of Clyde. The familiar brunette had a realistic handlebar mustache and a quirky look on his face that went well with his fake facial hair—or what I hoped was fake. There were no dirty dishes loitering around their petite kitchen and when Kenny was offered to grab himself a drink, I saw that even their stock in the refrigerator was orderly. I hadn't expected three college boys to be so precise, let alone tidy.

They were lucky Token came from a rich family. He was making bank for them without even having the try, mostly because the bank was already there. I was damn sure that each of them had their own room and quite possibly a bathroom as well. This was a nice apartment complex, very safe and well established.

Seeing how successful the childhood friends were—it hurt, because where they were productively fulfilling their lives, I was stuck at home in the same bedroom I've always had with the same stuff I've always owned. I never grew up with toys or objects that would leave with age; I'd grown up with appliances, needful things that would stick around in every household like a computer and a vacuum. My parents and psychologist didn't believe I was ready to be my own guardian. They'd keep me in that house for as long as they could, and I can't really blame them.

Kenny threw his arm around me, probably tuning into my sour mood. He was intuitive like that, and his talent would get him somewhere. Mine would keep me in South Park forever. When he shook me gently, I tried to smile and shook my head when he offered me his soda. Leaning in close, he whispered against my ear with a voice that fit his illusive personality, "I brought you here for a reason. You're going to get better."

Finally standing from the ground, Craig glanced over, eyes roving over Kenny and I before focusing solely on me. It wasn't like I was trying to be egotistic because conceited wasn't even on my roster of characteristics, but he'd been staring at me a lot and I knew the reason why. I looked weird. My features were strange. And for some ungodly reason that made him want to  _draw_  me.

Under his gaze I was translucent. How far could he read into me just by looking at me with that artistic eye of his? I didn't think of him as an oblivious person. He knew things when all the signs were there. I just wasn't aware of how many of them I was giving off. Could he tell that feelings for him resided inside of me? Did he know that I missed him terribly? That after four years I couldn't erase the imprint he didn't even know he'd put on me?

"Are you guys a couple or something?" He asked, flicking his finger between Kenny and I. Clyde's girlfriend, a cute little thing with cute little boobs and a cute little waist with cute little things and a cute little voice, had a better chance with Kenny than I did, and I was a virgin. Kenny  _loved_  virgins. The blonde laughed, hugging me closer, and I blanched. "Alright. I get it." Changing the subject, he declared, "We're wasting time." _I've wasted four years, Craig. I think a few minutes more won't be a problem._  "I'll show you to my room—"

"That's where all of his artsy fartsy stuff is," the brunette girl teased before offering a short, "Here." She grabbed the hem of Craig's sodden shirt. "I'm doing laundry right now so I'll just throw this in with everything else." The jealousy I felt when I watched their next display was righteous. Craig lifted his arms above his head in physical acceptance and Clyde's girlfriend made a cute little giggle as she jumped to get his shirt over his head and arms.

"Might as well take my pants too," Craig muttered as though it were a  _bad_  thing. Oh my, not for Tweek Tweak it wasn't. Dear mother of God. Sweet Jesus. "Fucking Julibee," he swore as he undid his jeans, stepping halfway out of them before lifting up one leg still inside to give to the brunette girl. She gave him a humorless stare and swiped them off his extended limb, marching down the hallway without a care that a gorgeous man was standing right in front of her— _in boxer-briefs_.

My heart rate increased, a sensation that was instantaneous, one that I was aware of so quickly that my head was suddenly scatterbrained upon its arrival. Eyes stuck to him, literally as though I'd touched burning metal and I was infusing— _melting_ —to the surface, I ogled. Craig had a  _beautiful_  body and I was whimpering in my mind the more I took him in.

The Tuckers had always been a tall family and that gene had certainly been passed down to him. The noirette was gangly, elegantly so for he'd never been awkward with his structure; all slender limbs and lean muscle that was definitive, not over-bearing. It just looked  _good_  on him, like a healthy mixture of strength and bones. His skin was pallid, accentuated by his raven locks and dark brows, even by the icy blue color of his eyes.

There was something in him that I hadn't been able to locate in anyone else. I could feel it in the subtle lines and shapes of his body, small things like the firm lift and curve of his shoulders or the planes of the sinewy cords making up his back. It was just that I could  _imagine_  touching him, feeling the vibrations of his pulse beneath his skin, where I couldn't manifest the thought with others. I'd tried so hard to just  _forge_  the thought so, so many times, but I couldn't even fake it. Craig was unique to me like that.

His ribcage was wide, abdomen flat, and he had protruding hipbones that highlighted his V lines. They were light indents that shadowed his pale skin and made my mouth water. And dropping from his navel was a slight trail of hair, an appealing vertical course that disappeared beneath the waistline of his boxer-briefs. I wanted to look lower, to gawk unabashedly at his crotch as though I were Kenny and could look anywhere suggestively without a care for the consequences, only I wasn't Kenny at all and I did care. I cared a lot. So I stopped and tried to tell myself that a glimpse had been good enough.

It was a lie.

As Craig returned his attention to us, I quickly schooled my expression but my blush would be a permanent facet. Kenny must've been giving the noirette that aforementioned suggestive stare because Craig joked, "I think your  _eyes_  have boners, dude. You've seen me naked before; learn to control yourself."

"It's been four years," Kenny sniggered. "At least just give me a few seconds to wallow in your sex appeal." The perverted blonde had no shame. "You weren't nearly this delicious when you were seventeen."

"Alright," Craig said. "He's getting into the creepy adjectives. It's time to find some clothes." He started down the hall, motioning for me to follow, and oh fucking hell he had the most adorable butt I've ever seen. "Kenny, you can go hang out with the woman. Just don't fuck her, alright? Clyde really likes this one." His thighs were so slim and I didn't even care that Kenny had slapped my ass as I followed Craig like I was sure Julibee had done when she was a puppy.

I was still consumed with drooling over him that I barely noticed when we entered his room, when in fact he'd already started sifting through his dresser drawers, asking, "You're gay, right?" His question was enough to knock me out of my heated stupor, and suddenly it was like coming out all over again. I'd been so terrified to tell my parents that I'd thrown up in the bathroom. I didn't want to throw up in Craig's. That would be so mortifying.

"Uhm—y-yeah. I—uh. I'm gay." To distract my eyes and thoughts, I took a look around the noirette's room. It was significantly empty and impeccably clean. He had a bed, a dresser, a comfy looking chair, and a ceiling light with cool orbs blocking out the light bulbs. That was it, furniture wise. It was everything else that caught my attention and irked a sense of fondness out of me.

Littering the top of his dresser in an artistic mess were pencils of different led weights, pastels, charcoals, markers and scattered brushes and other odd tools that must've been for etching or cross-hatching or something of that nature. There were paints in tubes ranging in size and others in twist-lid containers that looked expensive.

Laid out on the floor were captivating works of art, drawings and paintings that went beyond Craig's sketchbook. I had to wander over and kneel down to look at them more closely. I had to touch the edges of the paper just so I could prove to myself that they were real, that Craig had really left South Park to pursue this overwhelming talent of his. He captured emotion dreadfully well. I  _knew_  what these people were thinking. I understood them.  _Craig_  understood them, and he kept them forever with nothing but his hands and a utensil.

"Craig," I breathed, glancing back at him to see that he was wearing jeans again. He glanced over from plucking specific pencils off his dresser, raising his brows in question. "Why are you in  _school_  for this? You can g-go out and sell these as they are, dude." I was genuinely astonished by how slow he was taking things. What he had was raw talent—he could do so much and he was only twenty-one.

All he did was shrug. "I can do better. All of those are alright. I like them just fine, I guess." And it was as simple as that for him. He was perfectly fine with calling his artwork alright like people wouldn't pay for a portrait or commission their pet or whatever people in the art business did to sell or purchase pieces. Perhaps he was just pushing himself, and if that was the case, then I wanted to see what he thought of as magnificent. I really would.

Pushing myself up from the floor, defeated and somewhat weary, I turned around to find Craig dragging a large pad of paper out from underneath his bed. The way he had his back bent to retrieve it made my chest tighten. Did he always draw people shirtless? Sweet Jesus, I was going to have this blush stuck to my cheeks all day.

"You can sit on my bed," he suggested, pulling out an easel as well. As I did what he told, I asked myself if this was really happening. How had things ended up so peculiar? Tension was knotted in my stomach and my nerves were going berserk, making me anxious and jittery. I didn't want to sit in one spot, but if I had to force myself, I would. I'd done it in front of an entire class of watchful students—I could do it one more time with Craig.

Alone in his room. And he was shirtless.

My stomach balled up tighter, constricting and removing any comfort I felt as I removed my boots and sat cross-legged on Craig's bed. The same bed he slept in, and probably touched himself in. In my veins, my pulse beat vigorously. Why did I do these things to myself?

And then I realized that I was floating. Or rather, I felt and probably _looked_  like I was floating, because even though I had sat down, I hadn't stopped moving. This would be my first experience with a water bed. It pulled a giggle from the anxious debris in my stomach as I bounced a little and continued to drift up and down. "You have a water bed," I stated.

"I do," he agreed. When I raised my eyes, my frantic thoughts returned. Craig had position his easel and chair and this was honestly going to take place  _right now_. How the fuck was I supposed to believe this? I wasn't a  _model_. The way the noirette was acting so nonchalant set me on edge even though it was characteristic of him to be so stoic and unresponsive.

"I'm going to do something," he began, peeking out from behind his easel to which I figured he was checking proportions and positioning, "and it might be a little weird." Standing, he stepped up to the edge of his bed until he was right in front of me. My head was nearly level with his crotch. I could give him a blow job in our current position.

Instead, I looked up at him to which he explained, "I like to feel what I'm drawing. It just helps with texture and volume and whatnot. So I'm going to get a little touchy." He was so straightforward about it, dear God. I could do nothing but sit in petrified stillness as his hands reached out, fingertips skimming along my face. It felt like I was paralyzed but still coherent with the way my heart was hammering against my ribcage, yet I couldn't scream or jerk or  _anything_.

Craig's digits were surprisingly smooth as they passed my temples, gently fingering the strands of my hair. He ruffled my blonde locks and situated them in a way that was either messier or tidier, I wasn't sure, too focused now on the way his thumbs spread across my brow. I couldn't look at his face or the diligent stare he was giving me and shyly glanced down, withering at how gentle his touch was.

He traced the curve of my jaw, lifting my face when I didn't even realized I'd tried to drop it. His thumb flitted up the center of my chin before I felt its soft pad graze my bottom lip. Unconsciously I wet it, breath hitching when I realized what I'd done. Craig wasn't fazed by the action, his thumb persistent as it slipped across my mouth, the indent just beneath my nose. I wanted to lean into his touch so bad and had to bite my tongue when his fingers brushed against the apples of my cheeks.

This was the first time anyone had touched me in such a way. It ached the same way it soothed knowing that it was Craig doing this to me. I liked him more than anybody else possibly could. Since I was twelve, eight years of my life had been secretly handed over to him and I had done nothing that entire time. Liking him was a secret torture, one that I didn't believe would ever end.

A chuckle cracked my brittle shell of foggy-minded isolation. My eyes quickly averted to Craig's in a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. Had I been that obvious? All he did was slip his index finger down the bridge of my nose to poke the tip of it. He turned around then, sitting himself back down at his easel.

"W-What should I do?" I asked, shifting anxiously on his bed, skin still tingling at the memory of his touch. "You're not going to like, make me smize like Tyra Banks are you?"

"No," Craig scoffed. "Just go ahead and sit there. You're always smizing."

I did  _not_  always smile with my eyes, but I refrained from humiliating myself by arguing and making this awkward, so I did as he said and sat there with my hands in my lap. His bed was dark and snug, his comforter like a plush nest to hold me in place. What I wanted to do was lay down.

"Look at me." I turned my face toward the direct line of his sight. "I don't want to draw you from any angles. Your features are actually very symmetrical, so this will be fun." His lips perked up as I thought to myself: Fun for  _him_.  _He_  didn't have blue eyes like frozen water burning holes across his face. I could literally feel every stroke of his pencil as he mirrored my image onto paper.

More than that, I felt like I was being interrogated. Like he was picking me apart one feature at a time. It could've been that I was just being paranoid, but I had to wonder if everyone he drew felt like this. It was enticing the same way it was awful. Every time he glanced past the wall of his easel my heart jumped out of turn. I was stuck in limbo, caught between looking away and staring back at him just as intensely. Craig wouldn't be interested in a pushover, but the thought of challenging him intimidated me.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that without any interruptions. Long enough for my legs to grow tired and for that pin-prickling sensation to harness my lower limbs. Craig allowed me to stretch them out, warning me not to move from the waist up. He said that the lighting was perfect where I was, but even so I managed to screw that up, and he grumbled in irritation. Flipping to a new sheet of paper, he started all over.

Time obviously didn't exist in limbo, because it felt like no time had passed at all from the moment he began his new drawing to when he finished. My stomach never growled; my throat was never parched. I liked just being able to sit in a room with Craig and watch him watch me, especially after four years. I missed not seeing him daily, not that we ever communicated, but he was still  _there_. He had still existed.

For a while I had actually believed that the three were never real. I could remember having to ask people if they remembered just so I could say to myself that I wasn't going any crazier. Seeing their families at the grocery store or in town was like opening the present I never expected to receive. They were the real proof.

"What is it you want?" Craig randomly asked, shattering the silence that had built up comfortably between us. I was shocked by his question and felt my cheeks coming to life. _You. Your body. Your dick. I'm serious—just come back over here and I'll give you a blow job._

Maybe I looked horrified or suspicious because the next thing he said was, "You just look sad." He was speaking to my portrait. "Like you need something."

I smiled forlornly because he had no idea. "So you're like Kenny."


	7. Chapter Seven

_Art is a shadow of what a person is thinking... a small glimpse of what they hold inside. Little secrets, regrets, joys... every line has its own meaning._

—Sarah (1999)

* * *

"I'm not nearly as talented as that bastard," I scoffed. "I read emotions. Kenny reads  _minds_."

In addition to my drawing ability, I was being able to detect specific feelings. There was a variety and I could name each one, could even pick out the microscopic differences between them such as elated and jubilant. My side talent had a quirk, though: I could only ever read people once I'd finished drawing them, and it wasn't them I was looking at.

It was their portrait—my depiction of them and the way my inner artistry interpreted their eyes and facial structure, because if I tried to determine what a person was feeling by nitpicking or investigating, it wouldn't be as accurate. I had to  _see_  them through whatever surreal introspect my talent came from.

I did at one point attempt to Google my technique, but all I'd gotten were exaggerated depictions of an array of emotions stating the obvious. That it was due to the structure of the eyes, mouth, and relating characteristics, ect.

Something interesting I  _did_  happen to come across at one point was the relationship between man and dog. I learned from dogs that the key was to look to the left. If I got rid of the right side—my right—of the face, I could determine many things about a person. I thought that perhaps that was what I subconsciously did when I looked at a finished portrait.

The only thing was that Tweek's face was about as symmetrical as it got, and maybe that made him even easier to look into than most. Unfortunately I was incapable of doing the same for myself. It was impossible to read me, even when you  _were_  Craig Tucker. But Tweek wasn't me, and because of that, I could comprehend his sadness.

He was identical to a baby animal—any type, just as long as it was an infant. All of his features had a downward slope, naturally so. His eyes were wide and doe-like, and his pallid brows followed the line of their angled shape, tapering off at the corners. His lips were pouting on autopilot, the 'M' of his upper lip fairly prominent, his bottom in that odd, imperceptibly slimmer state that made me wonder if he was possibly sucking it in. Coming straight down from his eyes was the animalistic posture of his nose.

In the translucent hue of his green eyes was a shimmering thing. It was the light reflecting from his pupil and the physically small, yet emotionally monstrous cavity of this forlorn feeling. I was looking right into it as the volume of its existence weighed heavily on Tweek's portrait, encompassing the paper and me. He wasn't just sad, but I'd have to draw him again to understand him thoroughly, and I would. Now that I'd finished him once, I wanted to do it again.

Inspecting this two dimensional sad boy, I decided that he needed more texture. Either that or I was possibly just making up excuses that way I could get him to model for me again.

He  _was_  lacking in definition, though. But perhaps that was my own fault. His skin had an ideal smoothness to it without any discoloring or blemishes, nothing but the glow of his cheeks depleting a smattering of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his lips had been soft beneath the pad of my thumb. The only texture my pencils had been able to address were the layered locks of his hair, albeit just as delicate as what seemed to be everything else about him, and the fabric of his collared jacket.

The lighting in my room had supplied him with an odd cascade of shadows that fit him just fine and illuminated certain aspects of his face, all of which I notably liked—his eyes in particular. It was a shame to me that this portrait was negative, black and white and nothing more, because the color of his eyes would've been beautiful. With that spark of feeling in them, they were nearly glowing as they were.

I supposed that was just another reason as to why I'd be drawing him again. Later though, because I could hear footsteps heading toward my room and could only assume that it was Clyde coming to ruin my inspiration for the remainder of the day.

Flung ajar, my door veered around on its hinges, causing the wall to suffer the consequences. At the same time I heard Tweek shriek in sudden terror, my inspiration-wrecking best friend called out, "Holy shit!" He paused for the quickest of beats, gawking unabashedly before calling to Token. "Dude. Dude, get in here. I can't believe this. Kenny was being serious, dude. Tweek is in Craig's room. Tweek is on Craig's bed, dude. Craig is drawing Tweek like this isn't the weirdest day of our lives, dude."

Sometimes the word 'dude' was needed excessively when you were Clyde Donovan and didn't know how to comprehend certain situations. But he was a bro and it was acceptable, so I let him ogle at the embarrassed blonde in my room, on my bed, previously drawn, since it was in fact the weirdest day of our lives.

Token approached in a far more civilized manner, peeking over Clyde's shoulder to view the spectacle. When he spotted Tweek nervously shifting off of my bed to stand just as awkwardly beside it, he smiled with all of the welcome warmth that his tender heart could muster, going all out to make the blonde comfortable with just one gentle look. He was a man of all men—a perfect human being. I was a demon compared to him.

"This image is so wrong," Clyde groaned, rubbing his palm across his forehead. His face was scrunched up in emotional pain as he explained, "Only Stripe was allowed on that bed." Sagging forward, he stumbled until the only thing keeping him up was his chest against my body. "I don't know what to do with my life anymore."

"I—uh—uhm," Tweek incoherently babbled, frantically searching for an escape route. "I think I'm going to go s-see what Kenny's doing. It's uh—" He glanced between Clyde and Token, cheeks brighter than before. I wondered if it was in shame because of what the brunette had said upon making his appearance. That seeing him was wrong. Leaving his statement unfinished, the blonde excused himself from my room quite hurriedly.

"What the hell is going on?" The brunette asked, voice gone serious as soon as Tweek's presence fled the room. "You really  _drew_  him? That's like a keg party from the coolest welcoming committee ever! You're supposed to be hazing him or something. And you left my girlfriend alone with Kenny in her bra and underwear! I walked in on him giving her a massage on the couch, Craig!" When I tried to tell him a massage was no big deal, he seethed, "On her ass, dude.  _My_  territory."

Shrugging, I said, "There's not much I can do about that." He straightened out, choosing instead to wrap his arms around my shoulders from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. Token took the unoccupied spot by my side, leaning his hip against me. "There wasn't much I could do about blondie, either. Do you see how strange he looks?"

The two counterparts to my entire existence stared at the portrait in front of me. Perhaps we all saw something different, although I hoped that Token at least found a glimpse of the potential that I did. He was studying photography, an artsy duplicate of me. If he didn't agree, I was going to be thoroughly disappointed. But then Clyde huffed and Token mused, "You haven't been calling him that to his face, I hope. You make it sound derogatory."

"It's not derogatory," I stated. Tweek thought so, though. And Kenny had laughed at my choice of adjective. Obviously I needed a new word to describe him. "He's..." The emotion in his eyes grabbed my gaze, and maybe I was conceited for thinking everything that I did about my artwork, for eluding that it was so identical to the real thing that I could actually read into it  _better_  than I could the living vassal, but there was  _something_  there in anything that I drew; I knew there was. "He's neat."

Clyde and Token exchanged a look above me before the brunette rolled his eyes as though I were a useless cause and made to leave my room. My significantly kinder ally patted my head and inclined his chin toward my open door, signaling that we follow our friend. Shadowing Token as he exited, I tossed my pencils onto my dresser and came up behind him as we entered the living room of our apartment.

Never before had it been so full. There was Clyde pouting on the floor, his girlfriend and Kenny chatting animatedly about vibrators on the couch, Tweek attempting to appear busy on the other side of Kenny as he messed with his phone, and Julibee and Julibob pawing at each others maws near the kitchen. It seemed to fit that Tweek was on the edge of his seat, barely supporting himself on the edge of the sofa.

"We have to keep him," I informed Token. He looked toward the two beagles and then at me, sighing uncertainly as he plopped down next to Clyde. "Pretty Lady" —my nickname of choice for the woman— "already bought him." Pretty Lady's jealous boyfriend got in on the conversation by looking up at me, unconvinced. He was just upset that he was being ignored and wanted to get back at her by getting rid of her dog. My next confession hadn't been meant to come out, but it did, the traitorous words being: "And I might've named him."

" _Craig_ ," the two exclaimed in exasperated unison. All dialogue and mindless I'm-pretending-to-text-this-very-important-person-and-they're-texting-me-back-just-as-importantly ceased. Maw-pawing was just too good to pass up though, for the two dogs continued to smack one another.

"What?" I intoned, holding my hands up indifferently. "It's Julibob."

My two best friends looked at each other in a form of silent communication. Beaten by the perfection encasing the twin set of names for the twin set of dogs, Clyde looked away and mumbled, "That's actually really cute."

Pretty Lady's jaw dropped and she shot an excitedly frenzied look my way. "I got your back, girl," I promised her, winking.

She clapped her hands together, giggling in that girly way females often did, and I wondered how jealous Clyde was that his girlfriend was giving me a starry-eyed look. "You're such a sweetheart," she cooed.

"Sounds like someone's getting some later," Kenny jibed.

"Oh yeah," I agreed sarcastically. Making my way toward the kitchen, I stepped over the dogs and called over my shoulder, "I'm fucking Clyde's girlfriend tonight. In their bed." I received discontent hey's from both of the brunettes. Choosing to ignore the one with the penis, I reassessed my second promise as I opened the fridge and removed a soda. "I'm sorry. You and I don't fuck, Pretty Lady. We make love."

As I headed back toward the collected group, Clyde's girlfriend put a hand over her heart and swooned into Kenny's chest. That was another aspect I liked about her. She made automatic friends out of everyone. Clyde frowned distastefully, glaring at me for being at fault.

Mocking his pout, I lowered myself down to the floor next to him and got cozy at his side. He tried to scoot away, rash and stubborn, but Token refused to give up his spot. By the end of his rampant shuffling, the three of us were effectively strewn together comfortably. Kenny was watching the bickering scene in amusement, Pretty Lady with fondness, and Tweek in apparent awe although I wasn't sure why. Did he not act creepy with his best friend?

I was about to make things even creepier then. "Kiss me and tell me you love me and I won't bang your woman." The majority of the room laughed while Clyde scowled vehemently, more than familiar with my peacemaking technique. If he ever had a favor or if there was ever anything he didn't want me to do or sometimes even just so I'd finally let him go to bed, I made him kiss me and admit his unrequited love.

After so many awful memories of these moments, he'd learned to hate it and that's what made it so entertaining. Usually it took a lot out of me for him to finally become fed up with my constant badgering, but when his girlfriend was involved, he was quick to take the bait. I puckered my lips and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss—he never gave me nice ones when blackmailed—and grumbled, "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him, popping open my can of soda as I brought it to my mouth.

" _So_ ," Clyde began enthusiastically. "Lets order in tonight, yeah?" Nobody answered because he didn't give them enough time to do so. "Alright. Chinese it is."


	8. Chapter Eight

_What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself—life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose._

—Willa Cather

* * *

Tweek had adamantly refused dinner, even more so when Kenny offered to pay for him, to which the social blonde had advised Clyde to get a few fortune cookies, that Tweek would nibble on those and be perfectly content.

Pretty Lady was a maternal girl, always taking care of us boys when we were wasted and hungover. If we were sick, she made chicken noodle soup from scratch, and when we were tired, she cradled us on the couch. I'd go ahead and admit it: her boobs were warm and snugly. After school and work, sometimes all I wanted to do was lay on her and pass out just as long as the others hadn't beaten me to it.

Instinctively, she fussed over Tweek's appetite until the food arrived and the nutritional loss of missing a meal. It was amusing to watch as she strode into the kitchen with her determined, mother-like nature. She made the blonde a glass of milk and collected in her palm a selection of vitamins that she forced him to ingest. He'd tried to deny her, flushed under the spotlight, but there was no disregarding her insistence when she'd practically thrust them down his throat with her own fingers. I'd long since learned to take whatever she gave me; we all had.

And when the food came, we were all forced to hand over our fortune cookies. It was by far one of the saddest moments of my life since I quite liked finishing off my richly flavored meal with the subtle taste of a simple cookie. The fortunes were my source of entertainment, although it seemed that Tweek would be the only one humored this evening.

"Uh," Clyde instigated. He was speaking around a mouthful of chow mien. "What have you two been up to?" His girlfriend, having decided to finally act like she belonged to him, was seated between his legs, feeding him by forking food into his mouth.

"I'm in law school right now," Kenny said. I remembered talking about the future with him on the mornings of snow days, how that topic would always come around when we were blazed. I'd told him I wanted to leave our old town, and although he didn't say anything to dispel or encourage, I always figured he knew I was being serious—that it would happen. It was weird how that same future was right now and not once did I ever expect he'd be involved.

"That's a successful route for you," Token commented, utterly correct. Kenny has always had a way with scouring through people like they weren't anything more than documented truths on paper. He was charismatic and unfathomably intelligent with a long-term memory containing a ridiculous amount of secrets that a majority of people weren't even aware he'd figured out.

"You think law is compatible with me? Just wait until you hear about Tweek's accomplishments." He turned his head and gave the other blonde a loving sort of look filled with syrup and sweetness. The rest of us followed his lead, looking at Tweek who began to fidget under our accumulated stares.

He wouldn't remove his intently focused eyes from the fortune cookie in his dainty hands, half picked apart and scattered around his palm. Nudging a few of the pieces around, he mumbled, "I'm going to inherit the coffeehouse. I-It's not like I earned it so it's really not a b-big deal." A sour eye was cast toward Kenny. "Don't exaggerate."

"Wait. So you're going to own the entire thing? Like, the building and the business?" Clyde wondered, marveling the fact that Tweek was pretty much set for life.

"Yeah, I guess. When my parents retire they're handing it over to me. They're t-teaching me little tricks and whatnot right now. They want me to go to university so I can get a degree in business administration." Token asked if he was at a community college at the moment and the blonde nodded his head.

"Is this something that you want to do?" Pretty Lady inquired, watching Tweek carefully. She must've thought he was acting abnormal, and he was if you compared him to a normal human being. People weren't irregularly sketchy like he was, but for Tweek Tweak it was okay. It would be odd if he  _didn't_  respond so strangely to the environment. For being so different, he was fairly predictable. That made him even weirder.

Raising a pebble sized chunk of cookie to his lips, the blonde pinched it between his teeth and chewed. "I don't really have a choice." He smiled as if to reassure her, but his expression was one of self-deprecation. In his eyes was the same spark of emotion that was in my room on my easel. "The coffeehouse is where I'm comfortable, s-so I can live with that."

A dreary silence settled in the apartment, a physical quiet that I didn't think had ever been procured within these walls before. Tweek was uneasy knowing that he was causing such a stagnant moment. "Why can't you do something else?" I asked, feeling as though I were the only one careless enough to damage the dead air, unafraid of the repercussions.

"I'm sick," Tweek stated. "I mean—uh, I'm getting better—trying to. I can't do much when I have to stay at home. It's an obligation, anyways. I'm not going to disappoint my p-parents like that, you know?"

"Can I hug you?" Pretty Lady's question was filled with impending consolation. She had a weak spot for dramas, commercials that made you cry, the sad parts in movies, hurt animals, people with problems, and Tweek came across as all of those put together in one giant ball of tears.

The blonde giggled nervously. "W-What?" The brunette girl stood up, stepping over Kenny's crossed legs, well on her way to coddle Tweek. "It's fine, really. I-I'm not upset about it. I—" He had just enough time to cover the cookie bits in his hand before Clyde's girlfriend was splayed haphazardly across his lap. She smashed his face against her chest, fingers in his hair. Her boyfriend was upset all over again, mumbling under his breath and stashing heaping forkfuls of rice into his mouth to atone for her disappearance.

That was how the night commenced, and that was how it ended. The two blonds learned that Clyde was studying animation at the same college Token was photography and I art. Pretty Lady was the only one who went to school elsewhere; she wanted to be a veterinarian. It was revealed that her and Clyde's relationship was going on seven months, Token didn't have his eye trained on anyone in particular, and the last time I was physically involved with anyone was supposedly a few parties ago where I'd received head but couldn't remember it at all.

We didn't ask about how South Park was doing, if the people were well, whether anything had changed or not, and neither of the blondes mentioned anything in particular. They didn't say why they were visiting or when they'd be leaving, only that they were staying at a motel about fifteen minutes away. Everyone got along like nothing was new, like we got together on a regular basis, but it felt off and I hoped the two felt like they were intruding because they were.

Conversation went into the night, so far into the late hours that Tweek moved onto the ground and began to feed Julibee and Julibob scraps of food before eventually laying down with them, removing himself from the discussion he wasn't completely engaged in. My ears picked up the exchange of words belatedly, registering tidbits only after the next person began to speak. I was distracted by the blonde, watching as he spooned Julibob with Julibee behind him, her head resting against his hip. He was more comfortable with the dogs than people, even people he knew.

It was when his eyes closed and his breath evened out that I picked up one of my randomly placed sketchbooks—just one of many that were strewn here and there throughout the apartment so I wouldn't have to go searching for one when I needed it—and began to doodle the outline of his slender body surrounded by the small figures of the beagles.

I thought to myself that I'd like to look at him more. The way he was laying left little for my eye to discover, all barricaded by the dogs as he was, for if his face was  _neat_  then the rest of his body would correspond accordingly. He probably had distinguishable lines and curves, maybe defining his torso or the sharpness of his shoulders. As I wondered this and attempted to envision the way shadows would clutch at his bones, I scribbled fastidiously. I failed to realize, so lost in thought, how concerned I was over his legs.

His jeans were hemmed, exposing thin, slender ankles with just a light smattering of pale hair. The curve and position of his legs were easily assessable to my vision and even more so for my paper. Only once before had I experienced such an unconquerable want, a desire to draw something multiple times over, and that was with Stripe. Since his  _vacation_  as I liked to call it, for I was positive he'd reincarnate into gold or some magnanimous king in an alternate universe, there was this benign absence in my hands. It felt numb to draw.

But this blonde brought my senses back. The tips of my fingers were tingling with a familiar sensation that I liked very much. If I wanted to, I could believe that my guinea pig was still scampering around in my room as though he'd never left at all.

My smile felt warm and I stood, grabbing a jacket off the kitchen table before leaving the apartment, informing Clyde and Token that I was going to visit Stripe for a bit. He was buried illegally in a cemetery for humans down the street. I'd specifically chosen the apartment complex I was currently housing not because of how closely it was located to my college, but because Stripe had been sick when we moved and I wanted to be near him when he could no longer stay in my room.

Now I could never leave Lakewood, even if I wanted to. Stripe would keep me here forever and I was perfectly fine with that. I visited him every Thursday if not more because he died on a Thursday. He'd waited for me to come home so that he wouldn't be alone, and for that I was in debt to his soul. It had been the highest of honors to hold him as he rested, staring in awe the same way I had when I first got him. For hours I had gawked at him, this new young thing, and for hours I had gawked all over again, because by that point it was over.

Somehow it had felt like no time had passed at all and I wished I knew how an animal could do that to a person. Stripe had paused my life emotionally while I aged physically and mentally and now that he was gone, my emotions were trying to catch up with the rest of me. I wasn't fairing very well. I had no equilibrium.

Sometimes I believed that the reason I'd taken up drawing was somehow subconscious; like I knew I wasn't emotionally up to par with everyone else, so I attempted to draw the feelings out of others through my paper and absorb it into my hands, into me.

"You make me so philosophical," I said to the ground and the grass. His tiny, make-shift grave was cold as I laid spread eagle across it. Tendrils of green tickled my cheek. His little bones were down there somewhere and I thought it was awful that I could only draw him from memory. If Tweek ended up like that, my hands would feel so empty all over again.

One time the cops had found me down here in the early morning and suspected me to be a hobo. I'd been mumbling to myself, actually to Stripe although they wouldn't have believed me because they obviously didn't have family under the ground that they whispered to, and they'd nearly taken me to the clinic. Instead, they followed me home and patrolled the cemetery for the next couple of days, but that didn't stop me.

The sound of the occasional car reminded me that I was still alive while the frozen weather clung to my skin, making me feel expired. Stripe and I were corpses, on the same wavelength once again, and then I remembered that I was still vital. It could be unfortunate at times, but I had plans that I had yet to fulfill.

Stripe had completed his, I guessed. I'd forgiven him right away for leaving me, even told him so before he died, yet sometimes I got aftershocks that stung as severe as acid. I was feeling one now and I didn't know why.

After kissing the chilled stalks of grass, I pushed myself up from the ground and started to make my way back to my apartment. It was just two crosswalks away, one of which I j-walked, and a sharp turn to the right. The stairs weren't hard to climb, just time consuming when all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I was deciding not to go to any of my classes tomorrow when I walked inside, nearly plowing Tweek over with the door. He and Kenny were getting ready to go. Focusing solely on my face, he failed to notice what could've been a close collision.

His sleepy mask cracked a smile. "You have dirt on your face," he snickered. I hummed questioningly, standing in the open doorway looking down at him. He was quite short, like he hadn't grown at all. "There's dirt," he repeated, swiping at my cheek to dust it. His fingers were warm.

"You're leaving?" I asked. He snatched his hand away when I spoke, flung out of whatever groggy stupor he'd been in. A soft blush adorned his cheeks as he nodded his head. "Could I draw you once more?"

"O-Oh. We're n-not—we're not leaving p-permanently, just..." He looked around for Kenny. The blonde was grinning on the couch, having found himself a seat once again. Turning back around he inquired, "Are you okay?"

I shook my head.

"Craig gets in these moods sometimes," Clyde explained, slapping his girlfriend's butt in a playful manner as she passed him by. He seemed to know when I was upset or unhappy or lonely or whatever this feeling was, though I've never explained it to him. "Drawing gets him out of them." He knew the remedy as well.

"Go ahead," Kenny said, accompanied by shooing motions. "I'll call another taxi when you're done."

I found it funny that on the way to my room, Tweek asked me if I was depressed. Opening my door, I pointed toward my bed and answered, "No. Stripe just likes to haunt me every now and then."

"Kenny told me you were visiting him." The blonde sat with his legs hanging off the edge of my bed, probably because he had his shoes on, drifting lightly until my bed settled.

"I miss his company." So I turned his graveyard into my second home.

Tweek's eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the temptation of sleep. I told him he could leave if he wanted to but he shook his head, smiling and blushing, a combination that would come through in his portrait. He looked intoxicated more than anything, slightly muted. Not even his sadness from earlier could penetrate his lethargic state.

Looking at him so frequently and drawing his near-dozing features unbound my own compulsion for sleep. I couldn't keep from yawning, nor could I excuse the blonde's dopey grin. He was enjoying this effect he had on me, but it was quite useful, so I enjoyed it myself. The more I drew and the sleepier I got, the less I felt like something was missing, and before I could comprehend what had happened, I was just as muted as Tweek. Even my vision was going hazy.

He commented that I looked as though I were about to pass out. I distinctly remembered groaning in response, shutting my eyes. When I reopened them I realized I'd unconsciously been drawing freckles and whiskers on Tweek's face. A laugh of denial broke through my lips. Getting up, a mumble like "Yeah, passing out," chased after my chuckle.

My body hit the bed and it was instantly asleep, shoes on and everything. The lull of the miniature waves encased in the bed dragged me under. But my mouth wanted to work and my mind couldn't rest. Tweek's weight disappeared. Wherever he was, I asked him, "Did it offend you when I said that you look weird?"

It was silent for a moment. From the direction of my door came, "Yes." And then, "B-But I think you're weird y-yourself so I wasn't sure what to think."

This truth came easily. Maybe he didn't lie, much like my own tendency not to do so. It was an attractive quality, no matter how terrible the truth. "I meant that you look very nice," I murmured, unsure if he could hear me.

"Thank you," he whispered, and again it was soundless.

When he moved again, another statement swirled around my hazy mind. "Tweek." He paused what must've been right outside my door. "I'm glad to have finally met you."

"...Good night, Craig."


	9. Chapter Nine

_Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power._

—Oscar Wilde

* * *

They didn't come around again until the weekend. By that point my hands felt like they'd aged fifty years and like my fingers were undergoing a strange case of sudden arthritis. When I looked at them they were same-old: willowy joints and knuckles, strong. I hoped that if I looked in a mirror I'd see them for what they actually were like in one of those old Grimm tales. It ended up being my imagination, because when I saw Tweek, they rejuvenated, the little bastards.

He was sitting in the cafe with his tall blonde counterpart. There were no girls with them, eluding me to think that they'd just arrived. Tweek had a coffee though, and just arriving never stopped Kenny from having the ladies before. I seemed to be all out of whack since last visiting Stripe. Time had been playing tricks on me and my teachers were questioning the effort I was putting into their classes. My brain was scattered, thoughtless yet with everything to ponder on.

Kenny grinned, waiting patiently as I ordered a smoothie and took a seat beside him. "Tweek didn't believe me when I said you'd show up eventually." The skeptical blonde was blushing when I gave him my attention, diverting his gaze when he noticed my own was there to stay. His scarf was layered upon his shoulders. It's multiple shades of dull and rusted red made his green eyes stand out.

"It wasn't hard. I just had to follow the raunchy stench of whore and it led me right to you." Kenny clapped me on the back and shook my shoulder hard. It wasn't okay how simple it was to fall back into friend mode with him. Maybe once he came clean as to why he was here I wouldn't chastise myself as much for doing so.

"No need to play so dirty, Craigy-poo. The whore isn't present at the moment." That wink of his told me otherwise. "He did have a girl last night, though. Guess he's just tired or something."

"You two went out to fuck my neighbors, didn't you?" I accused. One door down from my place was a sister and brother, both generically good looking. Of course they hadn't passed by Kenny's radar. A feat like that went against the natural laws of the universe.

The social blonde scoffed and pointedly stopped to stare at Tweek whose blush intensified. "This kid? He  _created_  the word prude."

"I'm not  _prude_ ," Tweek denied. "If I want to put out, then I'm going to put out. I just—d-don't." His eyes flickered briefly toward me and quite a few other places, before settling somewhere far away.

"Tweek, if you'd just put out for me I could change your entire life around." Kenny's way with words was definitely an instant orgasm. What the hell was I doing with these guys?

"Be careful," I warned the embarrassed blonde. "That's his catchphrase. Gets 'em every time."

"When was the last time you put out, Craig? When you hit puberty and didn't know what to do with your wiener so you stuck in the refrigerator door?"

Idly, I pointed out that Kenny was false before clarifying. "Seven months ago as far as I can remember, give or take a few." Kenny asked for more information, smirking wickedly. "I was at a party and I swear to God I've never been so blazed. I called dibs on the next body that walked through the door."

"Female?" He questioned. I nodded my head, slurping my smoothie to a memory that was rather fuzzy. "What if that next body had been a guy?"

"Still would've been all over that. I'm sure I did get up on a few guys, actually. Clyde definitely." Our bromance was borderline homosexual when we weren't sober, even when he had a girlfriend. The ladies usually found it cute.

"And what's  _your_  catchphrase?"

"Wanna fuck?" I shared blatantly. Tweek looked more uncomfortable than he had when I'd practically gotten naked in front of him. I figured it was because the topic of our conversation was sex and Close Encounters With The Female Anatomy. Maybe he was prude. Thank God for Clyde always carrying a condom and not getting any himself that night.

"Mine too," Kenny agreed. "Maybe we could get together sometime, figure out what else we have in common." He was nudging his shoulder into mine, over-exaggerating whatever sarcastic flirt technique he was using.

"So you're a virgin?" My question was directed toward the obvious. Kenny deflated against the table at having been ignored. Tweek nodded his head vigorously.

Brand new with a fresh burst of helium, the pervert next to me asked, "Would you rather shack up with an experienced veteran or a naive virgin?"

Tweek blanched, staring at his friend downright horrified. It was entertaining to see him so riled up, the two of them in fact, so I pondered the thought carefully. The more time I spent on it, the more fidgety Tweek became and the farther Kenny's grin spread. "This is tough," I confessed, "because I know it's between the two of you, and you" —I pointed at Kenny— "know your shit." His features grew smug. "But I don't know, man. Virgins are nice."

Tossing his head back, the blonde groaned in disbelief. "You'd totally choose the virgin!" Kenny clapped his hands and quieted down only to shake his head at me. Was it that hard to believe? Speaking in his terms, I was sure that the experienced veteran would satisfy greatly, but there was something about a virgin that was new and fragile, almost sweet. It was satisfactory in a different way to know that another person's first sensations were because of  _you_. Kenny would've chosen the virgin, too.

"I-I need another coffee," Tweek choked, shambling his way out of the booth. When he got up to the counter, he spilled his money everywhere and pushed it all toward the cashier, probably begging for him to just keep it all. I actually knew the guy and would ask him about it later.

Randomly close, Kenny told me against my ear while pointing toward Tweek's abandoned cup, "That was full when you got here. Just saying." I knew he was giving me a hint, but it was hard to place where coffee came into all of this. Surely they hadn't stopped by Lakewood just to try the town's coffee.

I mean, I guessed it was kind of cool that he'd finished it so quickly. Maybe that's what Kenny was getting at.

On his way back, I paid attention to the blonde and his nearly pigeon-toed footsteps. He had a very dainty appearance in the most complimentary way. His limbs were thin, thighs small, and despite his minimal height, his legs were long. The black fabric of his jeans emphasized his scarf which in turn brought out his eyes, a domino effect or sorts, making Tweek a very noticeable person today. For being so shy he sure knew how to spice up his attire in public.

It became apparent to me as he sat down that in the natural light flooding the building there was faint discoloring one tone darker than his natural skin color circling his eyes almost as though he were wearing makeup. The other night he'd said he was a sick; sleep must be a problem for him. He didn't give off a sleep-deprived vibe, so maybe his brain was used to it while his body was not.

Returning to the present, I saw that Tweek was staring back at me. His cheeks were turning pink. "What are you trying to s-see when you look at people?" He questioned.

I blinked, never having been asked that before. "Kenny's nose is crooked. Clyde's smile quirks one way. His girlfriend's ring finger is taller than the index finger on her right hand. Token's right ear is higher than his left." The blonde raised his cup to his mouth with his left hand. Last night he'd been a righty. "You're ambidextrous." He froze all movement. "I look for asymmetries in everyone."

"I'd say Tweek's isn't very asymmetrical," Kenny commented.

"Yeah," I agreed, turning to consult with him. "He's kind of perfect."

Tweek was mortified on the other side of the table, shifting nervously with his hands in his lap. "Well w-what about you?" His inquiry was directed toward me as he tried to remove himself from the spotlight. "Do you look at the differences in your own features?"

"It's kind of hard to miss how jacked up my teeth are," I scoffed.

"They're not that bad. It's just your bottom teeth." Tweek smiled, unknowingly rubbing in how straight the curve of his lips were.

My front were actually crooked as well, imperceptibly so. I didn't think anything in particular about me was unattractive. It was just the way I was born and change never made anyone prettier in my opinion, so I never got braces.

Grabbing me by the shoulder, Kenny pushed me into the back of the booth and jumped across my lap. "Time to hit the old dusty trail." His eyes were following something passing through the hallway. Turning my head, I spotted one of the guys from my studio arts class. "I've had it out for him since I got here. Take care of Tweek for an hour or two, alright?" He winked at the blonde before dipping out of the cafe.

"He just left me," Tweek stated, gawking as Kenny passed by the window. He waved and gave us a thumbs up.

Leaning forward into the position I'd been in before Kenny moved me, I took the smoothie straw between my lips and sucked. Kenny's always had an uncanny ability to ditch his friends and leave them with others, but I guessed the guy had to do what the mood asked of him. Had I been a sex addict I'm sure I would've understood.

"I guess you can come with me to my next class." Tweek just looked at me with an apologetic expression. It wasn't like he was a burden or anything.

Him being there might actually inspire me to do something productive.


	10. Chapter Ten

_Art is not what you see, but what you make others see._

—Edgar Degas

* * *

The sun was beginning to take its downfall when Tweek and I started to head back to my apartment having received no word or sign from Kenny. I could've driven us back except that morning I'd decided to walk in an attempt to clear my head. Had I known it would end up futile I would've taken the warm route. Traffic was condensed and Tweek was having a hard time crossing the streets without running every time the walking man turned into a blinking hand.

My remaining classes had turned out to be counterproductive. Perhaps I'd jynxed myself when I brought the blonde along, especially when I was already distracted by thoughts I couldn't seem to pinpoint. All I wanted to do now was go home and snuggle with Pretty Lady and the Julibeagles on the couch. And maybe stare at Tweek for the rest of the night.

We walked side by side, hands deep in our pockets; his in his jacket, mine in my jeans. I couldn't see my breath but the weather knew how to be sharp without a frosty bite. Tweek made sure to stick to my left, that way there was a barrier between him and the traffic. Our time together had been pretty silent up until this point where I tried to make conversation. He looked like he could use the distraction.

"So you said you were sick," I started, pushing the button at the crosswalk. The blonde was leaning against the light pole in wait. "Is it the same as when you were little? I think it was ADHD that you had, if I remember correctly."

He nodded and I watched his face closely, picking up on his insecurities and shame. "I take medication for that." I thought he was going to end it there, and I wasn't going to push it, but then he continued. "There's also sleeping pills, and anti-psychotics, and certain supplements that I need to take. I'm an anemic vegetarian, so the doctors like to watch me closely."

I hadn't been expecting all of that. It was quite the list. I probably would've been proud of it whereas Tweek was far into the opposite. "What are the anti-psychotics for?" My shoulder was against the other side of the pole where I peeked over to look at the blonde as he spoke.

"My anxiety levels are really high, I have a severe case of paranoia, I'm obsessive c-compulsive," and as though he'd forgotten the best part, he added: "Oh, and my favorite: I have a speech impediment."

"Your stutter isn't that bad." The electric sign on the other side of the street signaled that we had the right of way.

Tweek scoffed, contradicting me as we walked. "You haven't seen me when I'm not on my medication."

_That's true._  "I kind of like it. It's different."

The blonde gave me a skeptical glance before speaking seriously. "People don't like different. They make fun of it, even when it's positive. N-Not that mine's a good thing—mine fucking sucks."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He tripped over the sidewalk as we made it to the other side. The apartment complex parking lot was one block away. I could see the green framed rooms and the customary granite staircases just ahead.

"N-No," he coughed, rubbing his cheek nervously. Was his reaction one of anxiety or paranoia? Maybe both. I understood why he was so sketchy now.

"Have you ever had one?" Tweek nodded, causing me to look at him for the answer. "What happened?"

His cheeks grew warm. "He was jealous, got mad at me, a-and broke up with me." This guy was suspiciously open for being a medicated mess. I wanted to see how nosy I could be before he shut his mouth, so I asked why. The blonde smiled bitterly and I spotted some of that reoccurring sadness pull at his naturally drawn features. "He told me that I was t-too hung up on a stupid crush over s-someone else. That it wasn't fair."

When I asked who he'd ruined a relationship over, his answer was immediate. "I'm not telling you." So that was how far I had to go.

"Do your parents know you're gay?" I asked, luring him away from his cockblock of a crush.

For a while, just about until we reached the specific staircase that would take us to my apartment, he did nothing but stare at me. On the first step, I looked down at him and raised my brows. He was probably wondering why he was undergoing such a personal inquisition, but to me, I didn't see it like that.

I was about as open as you could get when it came to the truth. I had no shame. People could pry however much into my life as they wanted and I'd show no barriers. Tweek could question me in return and I'd play fair. Only he wasn't. He was like a one-sided conversation. A characteristic of mine was to come across as boring, so I didn't blame him because sometimes I could be the same way.

Taking a step in my shadow, the blonde said, "Yeah. I t-told them three years ago. My psychiatrist said it wasn't good to keep something important like that from them since I'm not good with being under pressure and all. We uh—we don't talk about it much."

"Do you like your psychiatrist?" I should've been one. I was good at asking questions and listening. My advice never really reached beyond the point of 'then stop caring' but I had potential.

He perked up at that. "I've had the same psychiatrist since I was seven. He takes care of me more than I know how to take care of myself."

The way he phrased that, how he said  _know_  instead of that he  _did_  take care of himself, made me wonder if he didn't believe he could. An earlier conversation resurfaced and I remembered the way he'd talked about his life back in South Park. He still lived with his parents. Both them and his psychiatrist didn't think he was capable of independence.

Or rather, not that he wasn't capable, but that he wasn't in the right state or mind. Were their beliefs influencing his? "Have you ever tried to ween yourself off of the psychiatry? I don't know how healthy it is, always being looked after like that." That wasn't necessarily the right thing to say to him based on his reaction.

"I'm not healthy," he told me. It sounded like something he heard often and was just repeating it for the sake of believing it because everyone else did too. I've seen people do this before. I've seen someone think that a certain statement or opinion is true based loosely on assumption or observation from the origin, and continue to believe in it until finally they repeat it to another and that other says to them, "That's not true". Tweek just hasn't met this person, yet.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him watching every lift of his legs determinedly, careful not to nick the tip of his boot on any of the steps like last time. He was so consumed by this that he failed to notice when I abruptly stopped. A smirk touched my lips as he continued climbing, never ceasing until I blocked his path and he ran right into my back.

Cursing out a loud apology, the blonde grabbed my jacket to steady himself before ripping his hands away to smooth out the fabric he'd roughly abused, babbling out more apologies between every pet to my back. He was blushing and stammering and by the end of his little fit, his hands were trembling. Amused and somewhat intrigued, I turned around and sandwiched one between my own. I could feel his fingers quivering against my palms.

"You have no control over this?" Tweek shook his head vigorously, declining his head as though he could hide how lively his cheeks were. His modesty differed from most of the girls here. They self-conscious when it came to their bodies much like me when it came to the truth.

It was a nice change, so I let him know. "It doesn't make you look unattractive."

"Huh?" He was still stuck on our hands, unaware of his unconscious effort to hide his embarrassment.

"When you blush," I explained. "You always try to cover it up, but it doesn't look bad."

His smile wasn't something I could pinpoint, whether it was skepticism, genuine pity at what he thought was my stupidity, or whatever else that could possibly be going through his head, I didn't know. He just made that expression, gingerly slipped his hand out of mine, and said, "You're nothing like what I though you'd be."

"I was a lot worse before I grew up a little bit," I admitted. And then my brows knit together. "What did you expect me to be like?"

Whatever his smile had been before turned apologetic as he looked up at me. "A huge asshole?" He tried.

I couldn't really blame him for that. I'd had a mean streak throughout junior high and high school. "That's a misconception. I'm just brutally honest. People who can't handle the truth turn it into a personal attack. And then that makes me a bad person. I might've lived up to it a few times just for fun but..." I shrugged my shoulders like what's a guy supposed to do, leaving it at that.

Tweek nodded his head although I don't think he understood. He didn't know what it was like to be rude, too shy and insecure for something like that, but I was positive he's been the brunt of someone's awful attitude before, so maybe that's what his nod meant.

We started up the steps again and reached the second floor landing. "I know you and that sex fiend are being secretive about your trip up here" —Tweek commented softly that he was just as oblivious, that it was all Kenny— "but how much longer are you staying?" Knowing how that would come across, I added, "I'm just curious."

As I was sticking my keys into the doorknob, he informed me, "We're leaving tonight."

Ultimately opening the front door, Clyde's obnoxious laugh reached my ears. I knew he was sitting on the couch, face nuzzled against his girlfriend's chest before I saw him. It was obvious by the ridiculing tone of his laughter.

Bastard beat me to her.  _God damn it._ My mood now had two reasons to go sour.

Glancing back at Tweek and his short, bony stature I thought,  _He'll have to do._

"Do me a favor and go sit on the couch. I'll be right back." He tried to question me but I was already closing in on my room where I threw off the majority of my clothes and came back out. Clyde was already warning him that he was in for it, and when he turned around at my reappearance, he honestly looked like he believed my best friend.

"Relax," I scoffed. "I'm just going to nap on you." His eyes followed me around the mouth of the couch, all the way until I was in front of him where he just didn't seem to understand. How was I supposed to lay on him when he sat all curled up like that? Our eyes met and I swished my hand back and fourth to let him know it was time to spread 'em. He was scared more than anything and let his limbs drop instantly.

When I flopped on top of him, my body between his legs, my head on his chest, it was like smacking into a flimsy piece of wood paneling. He was so tense that the impact of my skull and his ribcage made a sound like snapping bones. Clyde started snickering to which I kicked him in whatever body part of his was closest. I might've been laying against a tree, but there was a fire flickering on the other side, warming Tweek through and I could feel it against my cheek. His heartbeat was frantic.

What I figured was that he'd calm down once he got used to it, being a cushion as well as my body weight, but the more I laid there, the more _I_  got used to  _him_. That wasn't the way things were supposed to work. I could already feel my senses losing their grip on accuracy, paralyzing under the nagging force of the last few days. Before I lost it completely, I mumbled, " _Relax._ "

Sitting slanted against the back of the couch, Tweek shifted beneath me, his legs inching closer to frame my torso in what he didn't even realize comforted me. I sighed heavily, the structure of my body expanding and deflating soothingly. The blonde's chest gradually mellowed out, as did the rest of him. It was a trance listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. I could envision my own thoughts racing before succumbing to the tempo of his heart where they dimmed further and further into the background while his pulse did the same.

My eyelids were heavy even closed. I wasn't going to nap on him; I was going to fall asleep. "He likes his scalp scratched," Pretty Lady suggested quietly. "Or when you scratch the top of his spine, right at the nape of his neck."

And then he did exactly as she said as if her just  _talking_  about it hadn't been enough to do me in. Tweek had nails too, which was  _really fucking nice_. Mother of God, he was tag-teaming me. The feel of those nails raking across the roots of my hair  _and_  my spine was catastrophically incredible. On the verge of passing out, teetering between reality and nothing, my words were slurred and caught on my tongue but I said them anyways. "Yer givin' 'im all mah secrets, Pridlay."

"Don't talk gibberish, Craig." She had such a mother's voice. I'd always listened to my mom, but only after Ruby was born just so she wouldn't have to bare two burdens. I'd listen to Clyde's girlfriend, too. It was just hard to shake off the old habit.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_And my mind has fucked me over more times than any man could ever know._

—Laura Marling, New Romantic

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Craig's hair smelt like vanilla. I was trying not to smell it—I didn't want to be creepy—but the more he laid  _on top_  of me, the more his scent permeated. If anything, it was smelling  _me_. There was an undertone of cinnamon and cigarettes, but he wasn't wearing much clothing for it to cling to, so his aroma kind of diminished.

He didn't need to wear anything, though. If he left to grab something to cover up with, I might just burn it. This was by far the best day of my life and nobody seemed to understand that Craig Tucker, my lifelong crush, was sleeping on me in his boxer-briefs. I was something significant to him, even if I was just a pillow. We were essentially cuddling on his couch in his apartment next to his best friend and his girlfriend.

If—shit. If I went into my imagination  _really_  deep, I could pretend that this was an alternate universe. One where things were so much simpler and Craig hadn't disappeared from my life for four years. That he had always been here with me the entire time and we existed. The we that I constantly wished for so desperately. A we that was—G _od, I was so fucking stupid_. Pretending like we were in a  _relationship_  wasn't so much embarrassing as it was disappointing.

So I stopped thinking about all of that because it wasn't doing me any good. Dr. Norris told me that I was doing well when it came to displacing circular thoughts, the ones that you could contemplate forever and end up nowhere. I guessed he was right. A little after Craig had told me to relax, I quit thinking with my head and focused on my hands. Without a brain, things were so much easier to cope with.

I was watching the clock now, trying to will the hands to rotate counterclockwise as the evening reached well into seven p.m. "Tonight" was coming on much too fast, though Kenny hadn't specified an exact departure time. Craig had fallen asleep, his weight paralyzed on top of me. It was intriguing how sudden the difference was between him when he was awake and then unconscious. His weight had instantly gone limp and I could feel it against my chest, comfortably so.

My fingers had dulled to a secure rubbing, practically suctioned to the smooth pale skin beneath them. Scratching wouldn't have been on my list of Craig's weaknesses if I'd had one. When Clyde's girlfriend had suggested it, I'd eagerly taken advantage of thoroughly investigating its ability—I just hoped no one had noticed. He'd promptly passed out afterwards. The other two occupying the couch were lost to themselves. They looked so sweet huddled so close together, Clyde occasionally snoring under his breath. It must've been a regular occurrence, this catnapping or whatever was going on. I tried not to snuggle too close to Craig, afraid someone would see the similarities between the actual couple and, well— _us_. Except it was so god damn hard when the noirette was being such a sweetheart.

And he was nearly naked. All I could think was:  _Don't fucking cave._  It was just genuine torture to know that while I was all the way in South Park, Craig was all the way in Lakewood. Running around his apartment in his drawers. And now he was in my lap, fast asleep. And the only other two people around were just as incoherent.  _Stop—stop it._  They were right in front of me where I could make sure they didn't see, not that I was going to grope him or anything. I'd just touch his back, maybe let my hand drift a little, that was all. Honestly.

_Sweet Jesus, just stop it, you stupid idiot._  I bit my lip and settled for holding Craig against my chest, one hand root deep in his thick hair, the other across his shoulders. My heart was thrashing inside of my ribcage in both fondness and loss.  _God, Craig. You have no idea what you do to me._  What I wanted him to do to me. What I wanted to do to him.

This guy was my worst circular thought and it hurt enough just thinking about him in general terms that I didn't even want to consider what it meant to go beyond "wanted" and "to do". I beat myself up enough when it came to my other issues, I wasn't going to subject myself to this too. There was a hollow ache in my chest and Craig's head was resting just above the void.

I wanted to tell him that he was a bastard for doing this to me—this incomprehensible, beautiful thing—but I liked him too much. If I ever told him anything, it wouldn't be that. He already knew the majority of my life, anyways. I hadn't been expecting that questionnaire earlier, but I'd felt important whether he was asking just to be polite or out of curiosity. Everything about me was strictly confidential. The friends I had now were going to be the ones I kept forever because I didn't trust anyone else with information labeled  _Tweek_. I'd trusted Craig with six years of my life, though. There was absolutely no reason why I would lie to him, why he shouldn't know.

The door opened and for the quickest of seconds, I panicked. I'm not sure who I thought was going to walk through the door, maybe a burglar, maybe Kenny with an assortment of men and women. But it ended up being Token and I calmed instantly. I was blushing, feeling as though I had just gotten caught vandalizing Craig's body—in my head of course. Token just smiled and cooed at what I absolutely refused to believe was the four of us. Nope, he was only sprinkling his little noises all over Clyde and his girl.

"You're uh—back late... I think." Unless he took some type of night class, which wouldn't be a surprise. Token looked like he'd be a nighttime-achiever. He could be any kind of achiever and I'd believe every single one of them.

"Yeah. Photography project," he explained shortly, excusing himself to go put his stuff away. I thought it was so cool that he did photography. The other night he'd shared some of his photographs with Kenny and I. It was interesting, remembering some of the amateur snapshots from our high school photography club compared to his tasteful angles and ability to capture  _existence_ , living and inanimate.

When he came back out, Clyde was wiggling off of the couch, loudly announcing, "She's all yours, bro!" Token chuckled, clapping his friend's shoulder before helping the tired brunette to his feet. He said something about how he could've just laid down in his room, but Clyde cut him off with, "Naw, man! It's cool. You're a busybody, always working and shit, and now it's time to settle down with  _my_  busybody." He turned around to wink at his girlfriend.

She gave Clyde an air-kiss before holding her arms out to Token. "Or," she suggested, "we could put Craig over here and free up Tweek. Looks like he makes a pretty good replacement bosom." It was her turn to wink, although I didn't give her a kiss in return. I clammed up and blushed worse than I already was, diverting my eyes elsewhere, anywhere, everywhere, only to have them settle down on Craig's long legs.

He'd shuffled around a few times and his most recent placement was flat on his stomach. His limbs were gangly with a noticeable curve that accentuated their length, almost bowlegged in a way. They were remarkably attractive. Legs inevitably led to the butt, and unfortunately for me, Craig had the cutest one I've ever seen. It was just there, and it was small, and it was incredibly becoming on him. Sweet Jesus, somebody needed to stop this man from being the most tempting piece of God knows what.

"I couldn't do that to him. He looks so comfortable." Token chuckled, settling down against the brunette girl in much the same position Clyde had been in. After a closer look in my general direction, making me jitter nervously, he asked, "Is he asleep?"

"Fast asleep," I informed the three, quite proudly to my surprise. Caught off guard by my own haughtiness, I immediately simmered down. Three cheeky grins were sent my way, thoroughly embarrassing me.

"Craig's a heavy sleeper. You might be stuck here for the night," Clyde said, stumbling off toward the kitchen. "Let me know when he starts snuggling. I want to get in on that shit."

I called after him, "Sn-snuggling?"

"Oh yeah," he jeered. "He likes to get  _real_  comfortable after a while. And by that point he's all warm and cuddly so I like when he spoons me."

"That was a pretty homosexual thing to say, Clyde." And then Token looked at me. "No offense."

My heartbeat stunted. Did Craig tell him? It wasn't like it mattered—everyone already knew. There was just this irrational fear inside of me, a residue of sorts after I freaked while coming out to my parents. "How did you know?"

Clyde's girlfriend answered for him. "You're not asking that out of genuine curiosity, are you?"

A smile, twinged negatively by a hint of sadness, washed out my features. I dropped my head against the side of the couch, rolling my eyes when the girl offered me a quiet  _awh_. My sexuality wasn't the problem. Actually, it was—but not for the reason they thought, although I'd let them continue to think as they were. The real problem was that  _because_  I was gay, I wouldn't be able to have Craig.

I'd have a better chance with him if I were  _straight_. That's how successful my chances were. And yet I knew that—Jesus, did I know  _everything_  about it. But here Craig was, tempting the  _fucking shit_  out of me. I could honestly admit that if we were completely alone, if I knew that no one was in the apartment and nobody would be home for a long time, I would touch him. Everywhere. While he was asleep. And if he woke up, I'd run.

God, his skin was getting really warm. I then noticed with internal horror that my hand had begun to subconsciously trace the line of his shoulders. It was by no means a sexual touch, just a mindless one for comfort. I had told myself my fingers wouldn't wander, though. I couldn't remove them, either. My hand was literally  _stuck_  to his body.

But his shoulders felt so nice. They were lean and wide, his subtle muscle compatible against my fingertips. Heat was dousing my body beneath him. My chest, my stomach—fuck, my thighs. He was like a soothing furnace set at just the right temperature. "Uh, Clyde? I think he's about ready to cuddle."

"Hmm?" The brunette popped his head out of the kitchen. I had to crane my neck around to see him. "Is he warming up?" I nodded vigorously, receiving a series of thick cracks that just about made me cry. I could've snapped my  _neck_  just then. Swearing, Clyde came out of the kitchen shoveling cereal into his mouth. He dropped the bowl onto the table, ignoring it in exchange for Craig.

His sporadic, hurried movements were making me anxious. "Should I m-move?"  _Please don't make me move. Please don't make me do that, Clyde. I don't want to have to tell you no._  He shook his head and waved my question away.

"He'll wake up. I'm just going to..." He trailed off, explaining with his body instead. Crawling onto the couch, he crouched onto his stomach and sidled closer by the push of his elbows. When he reached Craig, he half heaved himself on top of his friend and pressed his cheek flush against the noirette's back with a refreshed, " _Aw_ _hh yeah_."

"You guys are so weird," Token laughed, turning his head the other way so he didn't have to look at his two best friends. I didn't blame him. I felt like I was about to partake in a ménage à trois—not that I'd mind that. **  
**

"Dude," Clyde murmured. "You haven't felt how hot his skin is, so you're not a part of this conversation." And then he took things  _way_  too far. "I want to have sex with him just so I can see how much warmth he gives off. Or I want to be there when he does have sex just so I can touch him. And then I'll leave."

I've never been so uncomfortable in my life. That was, until Craig suddenly spoke up.

How long has he been conscious?

My hands instantly stilled, one frozen above his shoulder blade, the other lost in his tresses. "I do get hot. Like, I have an irregular amount of body heat when I have sex. Same goes for when I masturbate."


	12. Chapter Twelve

_I lie for only you, and I lie well._

_—_ Brand New, The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

_Holy shit._

"Are you serious, dude?" Clyde started laughing hysterically. "Do you sweat a lot?"

_Oh my God—no._ "Nope. I mean _—_ I sweat, yeah, but not excessively. It feels really good, though."  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._  "If I could jack off on a regular basis, I would, just for the heat. But, you know, defective penis over here." He was mumbling the words into my chest, his breath just as warm through my shirt as his skin.  _Sweet Jesus, oh God, oh lord._

"You bring the alcohol, I'll bring the condoms. Let's do it." These two were planning a sex rendezvous and I was stuck in the middle, nearly about to pass out. I couldn't breathe. Would they be offended if I pushed them off and threw up on their carpet? Because I didn't think I was going to make it outside.

"I might be up for it right now, actually."

Clyde's laughter became uncontrollable. "Seriously?" Craig hummed and nodded against my chest.  _Completely_  serious.  _What the fuck is happening?_  "Don't tempt me, dude. I'm honestly thinking about it."

"Me too, bro. Who's bed would we do it on?" When Clyde answered with Token's, I found a bit of the humor, but there was literally an undertone of honesty that I couldn't quite shake off. "Who'd top? I kind of don't want to get thrown under the bus, if you know what I mean."

With a thorough nod, the brunette said, "Yeah, I feel you. But I've got a girlfriend. I can't disappoint, _if you know what I mean._ " I looked at said girlfriend and saw that she had her face in her hands, and not because she was laughing.

There was no way. This was unbelievable. They were actually planning on having sex with each other. I mean _—_ I had a best friend too, but Thomas and I weren't about to  _fuck_.

Thomas had Kenny for that kind of thing. _I_  had Kenny for that kind of thing even if I'd never use him.

The promise had already been made long ago: either I'd lose my virginity to Craig, or I'd remain a virgin for life. It made sense that I was a pretty sad excuse for a human being and was going to die a virgin.

"Looks like we've reached a predicament," Craig murmured, breathing out the last few words. Over the years his voice had deepened, now a smokey sound with just a hint of his signature nasally tone. It was damn attractive when he whispered sleepily like that. For a moment his weight settled against me, and I could've mistaken him for being asleep again. I liked how heavy his upper body was, so I wouldn't have minded, but then he spoke up. "Rock-paper-scissors you for it."

He was going to  _rock-paper-scissors_  his  _anus_  away? Assuming he's never had it up the butt, that is. "Your loss, bro," Clyde replied, shrugging his shoulders much to my disdain.

"Are you two idiots?" The brunette's girlfriend shot the both of them a look that said  _that's enough bullshit for tonight._  She seemed to be just as scared for Clyde's ass as I was for Craig's.

It wasn't like _I_  was going to fuck him or anything. It was just that I'd feel like shit if Clyde had sex with him. I've already expressed to Kenny how awful it was knowing that the niorette was generously experienced, sexually speaking. God, it sucked.

The two best friends gave equally dissatisfied grumbles before dispersing. Clyde rolled off of the edge of the couch, returning to his soggy cereal, and Craig flopped onto his side, pressing one of my legs tight against the back of the couch. He bent one arm, elbow raised high as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. His chest expanded greatly, his coffin of a ribcage protruding through his skin. I could do nothing but watch with unrestrained interested, these habitual quirks of his.

I had to school my expression as best I could when he inclined his head to look up at me. "You didn't mind, did you?" His eyes looked straight at me, crystalline in their pale blue color. They were a little puffy from his short sleep and I thought it was absolutely adorable.

My smile was borderline are-you-serious. "I'd rather have you s-sleep on me than have to sit in that motel listening to Kenny's orgasm. It's  _disgusting_." Somewhere behind me, Clyde faked a gag.

There was a spark in Craig's eyes then, a significantly small glint that caught the light and made my stomach clench with a delightful sickness. "Even if I crush you?" Was that a tease? Because he could tease me all he wanted. "Like, full body suffocation." Oh yeah, that sounded fine by me. That was like _special treatment_.

"By all means, kill me."  _I'll let you smother me with your body right now._  "You don't know how loud he can get people to scream. It's unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" A chuckle shirked around Craig's next yawn; his eyelids briefly fluttered shut.  _Damn it._  I should've used a different adjective. Unbecoming was too strict Victorian mother. He let it go, though, and instead objected my other statement. "Since when is screaming a bad thing?"

"Yeah, buddy!" Clyde hollered.

Did Craig like screamers? I'd scream for him. Quickly, I shook my head to dispel his question.

What I had meant was that it was just gross when Kenny made someone scream, or anyone for that matter. Listening to people have sex, even in movies, made me feel dirty.

"Your boyfriend never made you scream?" Craig's question shut my brain down.

"My b-boyfriend?" I stuttered incoherently, subconscious desperately attempting to fit such a person from my life into that context. It didn't make sense; I was a virgin in all aspects of sex: penetration, oral _—_ I'd been felt up one time but I'd put a stop to it immediately. "Oh! No _—no_. Definitely not. I've only ever kissed someone before!"

Why in the world was I having this conversation in front of four people, one passed out, with Craig between my legs? I couldn't have been conscious. Had Kenny slipped me drugs? Had I overdosed on my own?

Many reactions were received due to my confession. Clyde choked on his cereal before making a show of clutching at his throat and dropping to his knees while his girlfriend cooed in adoration and hugged Token to her chest in a way I was positive she wished she was doing to me. Along with them, Craig heaved himself onto his hands, stared at me, and asked, "You're how old?"

I blushed for many reasons: everyone was freaking out which often led to  _me_  freaking out, for the first time I was ashamed of being a total virgin, I'd come close to grappling for Craig just to bring him back to me, and he was looking fucking lovely just hovering there and needed to crawl on top of me _—_ I was just an onslaught of embarrassment.

My laughter came out nervous. "Twenty?"

The room exploded in one unanimous, raucous, " _No!_ "

Their noise heightened my mortification.  _Okay. I'm prude. I think I get it._

"At least," Craig started, raising his voice above the others, "he's been kissed." He even got onto his knees, pointed his hands at either of the couple, and pressed down on the air as though he could do the same to their voices.

"Well thank God  _somebody_  decided to show this boy some mercy." Clyde's girlfriend threw her hands up for an amen and a hallelujah. "Wait _—_ " Her stare was sharp and stern. "Were they male? You've had your first kiss from a guy, right?"

Clyde added, "Otherwise Craig's making a courtesy call to fix that! I mean, I'd totally do it but that's called cheating."

_But fucking your best friend isn't?_

And then my head swiveled around so I could gawk at him. "Excuse me?"

"See,  _this_  is what South Park does to people." He was ignoring me, speaking to his girlfriend instead. "Just answer the question, Tweek. You still have a chance. We can fix you." But my brain didn't have the capacity to wrap itself around the implication regarding his previous promise, let alone provide him with an answer that made sense.

I felt as though I were on television, a contestant of some game show like  _The Price Is Right_  or  _Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?_  This was my chance to win a  _buttfuck_ ton of money. So much  _cold, hard cash_  that I couldn't even comprehend its value or its significance to my life. This was the final question that would complete me or leave me stuck as the same stupid kid I've always been. I just had to answer it correctly.

The words then came to me on autopilot. I wasn't speaking _—Kenny_  was. I'd phoned a friend, asked the audience, eliminated a few choices, and this was what I was left with: a lie.

"It was a girl."

A thick silence ensued and I was so afraid that they knew I was faking it. My heart was beating erratically and I was so happy that Craig wasn't resting against my chest anymore, otherwise he'd know. He would've known and then he wouldn't have done what he did next.

He wouldn't have crawled closer just like I'd wanted him to, sauntering forward on his lanky joints, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs. He wouldn't have inched his face toward mine and I wouldn't have smelled mint and cigarettes on his breath, or felt the warmth of it puff against my mouth. He wouldn't have looked so undeniably sexy with his lips parted, an image that imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

I never would've imagined he'd cup the nape of my neck, that his palm would contain so much heat or that he'd tuck down the strands of my hair with his fingers. Craig was so up close that I could see the spires of a color so translucent it was nearly white shooting from his pupils. It was so hard to refrain from being needy, to keep myself from inclining my chin, to let  _him_  instigate Clyde's promise himself, and _—Sweet Jesus—_ I was going to kiss this beautiful man.

_But I swear this is the only time I'll ever lie to you, Craig. I promise I'll never lie like this again, not to you. And I'll tell you one day. I'll tell you that I tricked you into kissing me, but right now I need this. I need this._

He leaned into me so much that I could  _feel_  his proximity and  _loved_  it. I wasn't even breathing when he nestled my bottom lip between his own, lightheaded from so little oxygen. His mouth, soft and gentle and tender and everything that I wanted and needed and admired, applied the quaintest little suction. It was enough to leave me breathless.

I made sure to memorize that entire kiss from top to bottom. Being as paranoid as I was, considering small details was my specialty. I don't believe I moved, too involved in remembering Craig's touch to burden with my own instincts. My immobility frightened me, though. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been so still. As if to taunt me, Clyde's girlfriend said, "I don't know how good one kiss will look on his repertoire, Craig." She sounded like she was enjoying this too much, which should have worried me, but I was encompassed by this peck of a kiss and didn't exist outside of its delicate walls.

Clyde agreed with, "Yeah, dude. One kiss is just sad." But Craig had already separated our lips for the sole purpose of realigning them, and it was my fake first kiss all over again. My fake second kiss. It was just as sweet as before, all light pressure and a chaste brush that made my lips so sensitive even his breath felt like it held a physical presence. And then it happened  _again _—__ my heart exploded, I swear _—_ and as he pulled away, our lips kind of stuck together.

When I opened my eyes, Craig was staring at me intently. I'd seen this look of his before during the time he'd drawn me in his room. It was the one where he drew me with his eyes, and I wondered if a mirror image of me was appearing in pieces against the backdrop of his mind. I felt substantial under his concentrated observation and I was happy that he was an artist, otherwise I would've been useless to him, because for whatever reason, he felt like I was worth drawing. I was worth something to  _Craig_.

"You're glowing," he told me. "Can I draw you one more time before you leave?"

I smiled, my lips tingling in a way that they hadn't after my real first kiss or any of the ones I've ever been a part of before tonight.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_The beauty of things must be that they end._

_―_ Jack Kerouac

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

It was near midnight and Kenny was leading me down the second floor staircase toward his car sitting idle in the parking lot. He'd shown up but ten minutes ago for a quick set of goodbyes as well as a boob-grab at the lady. I hadn't wanted to linger and stole away as quickly as I could. My mood was dampening progressively because this was it. The week was over; it was time to go back home. This was probably the most disappointing day of my life.

Kenny was in the midst of comforting me though he had no idea how much harder this was going to be than we'd originally estimated. Hanging out at Craig's apartment and acting as his art subject hadn't been on  _my_  agenda at least. He'd been hospitable and now I didn't want to leave. As I was thinking this, Clyde's girlfriend came rushing after us in a pair of her boyfriend's shoes that were a few sizes too big for her feet.

She came around to my side of the car _―_ shotgun _―_ with a knowing smile. I wasn't sure whether it was because my gigantic crush was obvious or if she knew that I'd lied or maybe I had forgotten something and she was just returning it. If it was the latter, well, there was no way I was getting back that section of my life that would remain forever with Craig, though it seemed the rest of my life was going to end up just the same. But that was alright. I trusted him with all of it.

"I'm going to ask you a question," she started, smile growing wider, "and I want an honest answer."  _Oh shit―please no, don't do this to me._  It turned out not to be as bad as I thought. "Who was your first kiss?"

I grinned bitterly, not only because I'd lied but because it already ached to think about Craig's mouth. "His name was Trent," I said, and I couldn't even conjure an image of him because all I could see inside of my head was Craig. Craig Tucker and his godawful good looks.

Her features softened. I bet I looked pretty pitiful, standing there a liar just so I could kiss my crush. And here I was supposed to be an adult, twenty years old.

That's when she said something very peculiar, and my eyes were rapid as they made to connect with her's. I wasn't sure how to comprehend her words. They stopped my breath short. "You're going to make a big impact on Craig's life. And he's going to let it happen, because he's a pushover like that. You don't need to wait another four years, okay?"

When I tried to speak, she cut me off with a new smile turned sweet. "Don't make him wait that long. He's tough to reach, and I know you know that, but I think you've wasted enough time on him to also know that he's worth it. Right?" I was stunned, lost in the same paralyzed state I'd been in when Craig had kissed me. I was so busy trying to pick apart her meaning that I couldn't do anything more than stand there in utter confusion. There was hope and excitement too, but I didn't know how to benefit myself from those.

My nod was nearly dumb, just a wobbly bob of my head. "Good," she concluded, beginning to back away with light footfalls. I watched her and wished that she would stop walking because I wanted to hear more, to hear all of it. "It'll take some time for all of this to sink in _―_ he's pretty oblivious when it comes to understanding his own emotions _―_ but you'll be around each other for that, so this will be different, I'm sure. Just make sure to come back soon. Craig may be patient, but I'm not."

Patient? She made it sound like  _he_  had a crush on  _me_. Don't make him wait that long? The reality of the situation was that he didn't even know he was waiting for  _anything_. I was no closer to him emotionally than I've ever been, and the only reason I had a leg up on the physical side of our _―_ I didn't even know what to call it _―acquaintanceship_  was because he felt bad that I've "never kissed a guy". It really wasn't anything to celebrate and I didn't appreciate her getting my hopes up over something so insignificant.

The weight of my desire for him, those petty daydreams of mine where he'd make an appearance seeing as he couldn't in real life, or my thoughts focused so god damn hard on him  _all the time_ , didn't even compare to the stress of this reality. It bombarded me and I couldn't disentangle myself because all of it was true.

Craig was somewhere I was not, and it wasn't the hours of driving that separated us as much as it was the difference of success. He was moving too fast for me and I was stuck in a grungy old town with unbeatable health issues and a family business. There was no way out for me, and Craig Tucker didn't wait up for anyone. I liked that about him, even if it didn't include me, because honestly, why should it?

Thoughts like those made me angry, and I wanted to answer with something like: because when he goes out and does whatever he does at  _dorm parties_ , those people are as there for him as he is them. And I get it that even though he doesn't like  _people_ , at the time he's an intoxicated man, and shit happens. I totally understand that and I have no qualms because there is  _nobody_  who will  _ever_  like him as much as I do _―_ nobody exists that cares more than me.

I  _want_  him to be cared for, and even though it was rare that I ever found self esteem inside myself, I  _knew_  that I was capable of doing that. Of being the one who cared.

My problem lay with the possibility that  _he_  may like someone more than me, that there is someone who exists that he cares more for. But he doesn't like me or anybody; he doesn't care for  _me_  or anybody. And if that's the way it has to be, then I'll live with that just as long as there is no one else. Honestly, I was borderline if-I-can't-have-him-then-nobody-can.

"You doing okay there, Tweekers?" Kenny asked. We've been on the road for a while, maybe an hour or so into the drive and probably halfway home. Halfway away from Craig.

I didn't allow myself enough time to compose myself before I murmured, "I'll be fine." My voice cracked and I really would've been fine had I not spoken, but when you're on the verge of crying and speak, there's absolutely no way to control yourself after that.

Buckling over, I jammed the heels of my palms into my eyes and hissed through my teeth like I could stop myself from acting like a baby. It didn't work and there were tears leaking down my wrists. I tried to do that thing where you hold your breath to keep from sobbing, except when I finally needed to breathe, I nearly exploded and did the exact opposite of my intentions. Hiccuping, I told Kenny not to make fun of me, that I just needed to cry and get it over with, that I'd feel better afterwards, that I just wanted to go home, and lying to him was so much easier because what I actually wanted to do was go back to Craig's and let him pass out on me for the rest of the night.

It was just that four years was finally coming out of me and I didn't know what I was supposed to do when they were finally gone.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be._

—The Perks of Being a Wallflower

* * *

Currently, I was intoxicated, scribbling mass images of one thing.

The past couple of days had been like those drab paper towels. The kind without any imprints or colors or cute little designs. They were thin too so you'd have to use like, five. And then by the next day all of them were used up, lost somewhere in the trashcan, and you're stuck with wet hands. I hate wet hands without any paper towels. It just really put a damper on my mood. That's what every day has been leaving me with.

In all of my classes I just sit there. A few of them I don't even attend. I knew what was wrong, but it hasn't happened in such a long time that I've been trying to pass it off as something else. Something curable. My professors started noticing and I like to remain as inconspicuous as possible so I just stopped showing up. I'll return with a bunch of make up work and then everything will be fine, but until then, things were going to suck. I mean, I could handle boring. I made love to boring. But when things sucked, they just fucking sucked.

My classes weren't doing anything for me, anyways. Whenever a model came in I spent too much time trying to concentrate on concentrating rather than concentrating on turning their features into paper and colored lines. I'd have to draw them incredibly slow just to keep myself from dropping the corners of their lips or enlarging their eyes. I wanted to give everyone that saddened glint to the light reflecting from their pupils because that was the only way I'd been able to draw Tweek.

I couldn't even doodle in my sketchbooks without stopping abruptly because it just wasn't working out. Even painting couldn't harness my inspiration, and I loved painting Clyde and his girlfriend together with their identical rosy cheeks. My artistic frustration was so obvious that Token offered to let me hide his camera so both of us could sit there like retards wondering why our imagination was just dead. His offer was characteristically generous, but I didn't want anyone to be stuck on my boat. Not that this was some fatal, catastrophic disaster because, like I said, this just flat out sucked. I'd come out of my rut soon. I could feel it all coming back to me now that my artistic paralysis had had the pleasure of corrupting me for a few days.

It was better just to stay at home until I got over this sickness of sorts. That's why I decided to speed up the process by throwing down shots with the lady—it just so happened that she didn't have school today—because when I was drunk, I had no concept of time.

"Alcohol shouldn't taste so delicious," she grumbled, refilling our shot glasses with vanilla flavored vodka. She wasn't wrong. Upon first impact with your tastebuds, there was that rancid splash of you-are-not-going-into-my-mouth―and then it was gone, consumed by a vanilla aftertaste. She didn't even need a chaser and she was the type who never drank without one.

"Tweek shouldn't be so goddamn hard to get rid of," I added, sitting up so I could throw back my shot before returning into a slump with my sketchbook open and ready to eat up my pencils. The doodle I was working on was almost complete. I just needed to go in and shade Tweek's lips, thicken his eyelashes, give his cheeks some color, and wish that at least his stupid eyeballs were here so that I could paint the color of them. My hands were itching to paint him, but I wanted to do him justice and I couldn't do that when he wasn't present. Fucking South Park had to swallow him whole again, and I didn't know when he'd be back.

Pretty Lady wiggled her way to my side, head resting against my shoulder to spy on what I was working on. "This is all you've been doing lately?" She was looking at the page that held Tweek's face, a few variations of his eyes, and one small Julibob in the corner. I almost felt embarrassment when she took it away from me and flipped through the previous pages because this sketchbook was new and a good chunk of it was already filled with repeated images of Tweek. Kenny appeared every now and then with his charismatic smile or shit-eating grin, but it was obvious that the majority didn't belong to him.

"Pretty much," I admitted, stealing my sketchbook back so that I could finish my doodle. It aggravated me when I left Tweek undone. He needed to be completed otherwise I couldn't sleep. I'd stayed up a night or two just so that I could tell myself he was done and didn't have any broken ends. Maybe it was a subconscious thing, like he was so haphazardly put together in reality that I absolutely had to bring him together on paper. Whatever it was, it was really screwing me over.

"Why do you draw him so much?" She asked, watching as I darkened his upper lip with a precision that, although quick, was treaded carefully.

"He's different. The people I'm assigned in class are either generic or ugly. I want something else so I guess that's Tweek." Something else was about as accurate as I could get when it came to the blonde. I couldn't see him as the kid I'd practically grown up with, lived in the same town with, went to the same school with. This was someone new to me.

"But you never thought about drawing him before? Like back when you lived in South Park?"

I shook my head, pigmenting his cheeks to give them a blush effect. "He was nothing that entire time."

"You knew who he was, though?" This time I nodded. "What changed?"

"Like I know," I snorted. "I didn't want to build up my ability to draw in South Park so I tried not to be as creative as possible. His friend, Thomas, has Tourettes and he's pretty much the coolest person ever."

The brunette girl laughed at my random piece of information. It wasn't until I flipped to a new page and began scrawling for a numerous time the now familiar shapes and angles of Tweek's features that she spoke up. "I think he's really cute."

My hand never once stilled as I responded. I didn't even have to think about him for my pencils to execute him perfectly. Instead, I focused on my words. "Go for it. I suggest staying with Clyde, though. Tweek is a little gay." Again, she laughed. We all knew that he wasn't just "a little" gay.

"Don't you think so too?" Pretty Lady picked up one of my pencils with led of a darker color, twiddling it around between her fingers.

"He's cute," I agreed. I might not have found people appealing, but I knew when someone was attractive.

"Was he a good kisser?" The memory from a few days prior resurfaced. It was a bit muddled, attempting to push through the growing smog of intoxication that had taken to clouding my head. Tweek's mouth had been soft and warm, but everyone's usually was. There hadn't been tongue or teeth or spit so I couldn't really pass any judgement. A kiss was a kiss, although for the girl's sake, I would comply.

"Sure."

"Sure," she repeated, unsatisfied. "Well, I think you blew his mind."

"Craig Tucker usually does." The point of my pencil found the underside of my neck. "I'm being serious. Take your boyfriend for example. He swoons every time I look at him."

Pretty Lady pouted, mumbling, "You're right."

"Craig Tucker usually is." She stabbed me a second time.

Sometime between then and there I'd passed out. It could've been the alcohol or maybe I'd just drifted off after zoning out during my moment of intense doodling. Either way, I woke up to Token positioning the Julibeagles on the couch with me, his camera hanging loosely from his neck. "What are you doing?" I grumbled, tightening the muscles in my stomach when Julibee stepped on it.

Token whistled and snapped his fingers, raising his hand high into the air. The beagles watched and sat down as he instructed them to. "I've got a few words that I need to photograph, but I can't use the actual words, you know? You're my picture of 'lethargy'."

"Oh." He positioned his camera in front of his face. "Should I do anything?"

"Yeah. Why don't you get up and quit being lethargic?" With his finger hovering over the capture button, he added, "No, I don't want you to do anything. Just resume sleeping."

"I wasn't sleeping." But then I yawned, and I had to cover my mouth so that Token didn't get some disgusting picture of me with a double chin.

"No? You were just practicing your snoring?" Token then did this thing where he got up onto the table or crouched down low or moved to either side of the couch where he got me snoozing from every angle.

"I was snoring?" I asked, bending my leg until my knee stuck up. "I only snore when I nap." That was actually false, though. I had no fucking clue when the hell I snored.

Lowering his camera, my friend took a step forward and sat himself down on the couch. The dogs took this as a greeting and unanimously rose to return Token's imagined gesture. One of their tails smacked me in the face before they left. I took this as a sign that I was meant to stay put, so I did.

"The vodka was out when I came home. Don't tell me you dropped out of college so you could be a drunk."

"Clyde's woman was home today. The vodka kept us company." There was some wooziness in my head still remaining, something that I figured would return full blast when I sat up. "I guess she left me."

"She went to go have dinner with Clyde. She also warned me that you're in some type of funk and that I should take care of it. So what's bothering you?"

I threw an arm over my eyes and felt around the couch with the other. My creativity was nagging at me, pounding at the base of my skull. When my searching fingers found my sketchbook, the knocking ebbed away. "I have been in a funk," I stated, collecting as many pencils as I could find, blind as I was. "It's all coming back to me, though. I can even draw again."

Another pencil hit my side, one of which I figured Token must've thrown to me. "You sure about that?"

The Lady must've told him that all I could really draw was Tweek. At least it was something. "Sort of." Removing my arm from my face, I made to situate my sketchbook before me in much the same position it's been in since I'd woken up this morning. And then I saw that Clyde's woman had drawn a picture of what looked like herself killing me in my sleep on one of the pages. I found it kind of funny that the image of me was happy. That's when I noticed that there was a dream bubble growing in size above my stick figure head, and it must've been the alcohol, because I started laughing when I saw that she'd put Tweek inside of it. Before my murder, I'd been dreaming of him.

"Can I see that?" Token asked, referring to my sketchbook. I handed it over and idly surveyed him as he flipped through the pages. Part of me thought that it must've looked creepy, all of these identical faces that belonged to Tweek. But I had folders and sketchpads and throngs of paper filled with nothing but Stripe and that never came across as creepy, so why would this? Art was a compulsion for me, specifically when it came to something I very much so liked. It used to be that every time I thought about Stripe, I had to draw him. The same was happening with Tweek and I didn't know why that was.

There were just things that I favored and I couldn't stop myself from indulging in them in the only way that I knew how. Unfortunately, Tweek wasn't that simple. I liked to touch things, to literally get a feel for what I was drawing. Skin, texture, bones—if I could feel it, I could turn it into one-dimension. Stripe had always been at my disposal for that; Tweek was not. "He looks sad in all of them," Token observed. That was my constant when it came to the blonde. It was the only emotion I could associate with him.

"That was the only thing he wore when I drew him. It's just kind of stuck now." Which was why I needed him to come back. I wanted to see the difference in his eyes when he felt other things. He would interest me no matter what, and yet that was all I'd been given. Spending so much time on this one emotion had me picking it apart and I was getting lost, circling back around only to end up at that same forlorn feeling, even when I tried to imagine him with something else in his eyes. I needed to see it and know that he was capable of it to be able to repeat it.

"Kenny will find a way to get him back down here." My brows knit together. Was he trying to reassure me? "Don't look at me like that, dude." He laughed, tossing me my sketchbook. It landed in my lap, folded over on a page I'd worked on a day or two ago. I'd tried to replicate Tweek's eye color. The failure was mocking me now, a shade too dark.

I ripped it out, not caring what was on the other side of the paper, crumpled it up until I couldn't see his false eyes anymore, tossed it, and buried my head in the couch.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_A plate of quite peculiar  
On a dish of my own  
A tablespoon of feather  
tickle me to the bone  
Give me recipes for happy  
with the chemicals gone  
Drinking freedom from a bottle  
to the tune of belong_

―Blue October, X Amount of Words

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I never saw anyone new come into the coffeehouse. They were always the same folks: some from the day prior, others from a few weeks before. Sometimes I memorized their order depending on whether or not the costumer stayed consistent or liked a variety. My favorite times to work were during particular seasons or holidays like winter or Halloween because my dad would concoct a new flavor and it always changed up the regular routine.

After sprinkling some cinnamon over a latte topped with whipped cream, I turned toward the counter and handed one of the folks from a few weeks before his beverage. He always seemed to have somewhere to go, and like always, he nodded his thanks and left the shop to walk briskly down the sidewalk.

"Mom?" The woman whose nose and eyes I'd inherited peeked her head out of the storage room in the back. "Can you t-take over? I need to talk to Thomas." My best friend had been sitting in a booth with a muffin and his phone since he'd arrived, unfortunately just as a few others had succumbed to the same idea. Now that everyone had been dealt with, I wanted to get over to him before anyone else showed up.

Stepping out of the backroom with an unopened collection of cup holders, my mom asked, "About your trip?" They didn't understand why I'd gone to see Craig, and instead of saying "to see that boy," they'd taken to calling it "the trip". It was probably better that way. I nodded my head. She smiled, but it wasn't quite there. She was never all quite there. "Go ahead."

Thomas's booth was the first one on the left. It was just a few steps away from the register, and when I sat down, the golden blonde removed his eyes from his phone and smiled. There was a giddy expectation in that expression of his and I was about to surpass it. He wasn't going to believe me when I told him Craig had kissed me five days ago. I still couldn't bring anything to my mouth without reminiscing his lips―food, a hand, my toothbrush.

One look at his face sent heat into mine and I found the abundance of it irregular as I buried my cheeks into the palms of my hands. "He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Thomas." My voice was an octave higher, something that I couldn't control.

He quirked his brows at me. "Trust me, I remember."

And so did I. We'd both had a little thing for Craig, but where his had gradually faded, mine had not. Seventh grade had been quite the discovery period of my life.

"Oh, you have  _no_  idea." An image of Craig formed in my head. The strict lines of his torso, those slight curves in his legs, the handsome structure of his features. "Age has done  _marvelous_ things to that man."

"You don't say," Thomas mused. "I highly doubt you snuck any pictures like I told you to." He gave me a stern look because he already knew the answer. I liked how I was able to laugh it off. Not much of that had been happening since I returned home.

"Kenny might have some. You n-never know with him. Maybe he has a Facebook." That had been the wrong thing to say. Thomas immediately brought his phone out, pulled up his Facebook application, and started to search Craig's name. "D-Don't add him or anything! He'll think I'm a creep, dude!"

"Don't worry. I won't add him unless his pictures are set to private." My stomach curled in on itself. Craig would know it was no coincidence if Thomas added him. Pressing down on the screen of his phone a few times, Thomas's face lit up and he said, "Well if this isn't a delectable young man then I don't know what is." Abruptly, I scrambled over to his side of the booth and pressed flush against his side so that I could see what he was looking at.

"That's not even his face!" I chastised, ashamed that my excitement had gotten the better of me. Thomas snickered condescendingly, peering down at Craig's profile picture. It was an inconspicuous photograph of him and Clyde from behind. The brunette had a hand in the back pocket of Craig's jeans and was winking over his shoulder at the camera. They looked like they were in a drugstore, somewhere between the chips and the candy. Had the shot been from the front, Craig would probably be debating on what to get based on what was in his hands.

"I don't need to see his face― _shit_ ―to know that he's one sexy motherfucker." With a pout, I mentally agreed. The picture, which I figured was taken by Token, showed how lengthy Craig's body was. I could even pick out that imperceptible curve in his legs that I liked so much. He was wearing burnt orange, straight legged jeans and a flannel. His hair looked disheveled. Maybe he'd just woken up, all sleepy eyed, his shirt unbuttoned.

The golden blonde slid his finger across the screen, sweeping the picture away until the next popped up. It was cute, different colors of paint splattered all over his face. Clyde was clearly in the background in much the same condition, scowling vehemently.

In another he was outside, the evening sky muted, casting a dusky glow. I don't think Craig had realized it was being taken, or maybe he was just a good model. He was sitting on the ground, smoke pilfering from his lips, a cigarette between his fingers. What really called to my attention were his shoes: they were classy, a powder blue color with leather wingtips.

None of his pictures were taken by him, each clearly done either by a tripod or Token or someone else entirely. At least until the last picture. He and Stripe were in it, and the guinea pig was held lovingly against Craig's bare chest. There was a toothy grin on his face, one that reached his eyes and lit them from within. His hair was longer, his features less defined. He might've been living in South Park during the time of this photograph.

My lungs tightened when I noticed the crooked nature of his teeth. They looked much the same as they had in person. It was his bottom more than his top and one of his bottom canines jut out at an odd angle. I could honestly admit that it was one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. Craig Tucker just continued to get better and better.

Dropping my head against Thomas's shoulder, I groaned in defeat and fell against his side as limp as I could get without slipping like a noodle onto the floor.

The golden blonde laughed, returning to Craig's profile to check any status updates. The only ones that showed up were rare and few and made by Clyde. The most recent was posted three days ago and said:  _This is Clyde updating for Craig. He's an angry artist at the moment ): Help me._

"Artist?" My best friend questioned. Thank God I wasn't the only one who had no clue.

"Yeah. That's why he left." Ouch. "But uh―when I went down there, h-he drew me." Thomas set his phone down and gave me a look that said  _Oh really?_  I couldn't help myself at that point. I went straight into a detailed account of my visit and highlighted all of the more unbelievable parts like: he said I looked weird and then told me it wasn't unattractive; he undressed in front of me, and his touching technique; the conversation about sex he and Kenny had taken part in; how honest I'd been with him; his comment on my blush; the way he'd slept on me; his and Clyde's near sex encounter―basically every part was unbelievable.

That was when I decided to lay it on him, all of my building excitement from recalling that entire visit leading me to this point. I sat up and looked right at him, my best friend who never failed to understand what this meant to me. "He kissed me." Thomas's look of pure, genuine shock caused me to quickly reassess my confession. "But not like that! I-I lied and said I've never had my first kiss from a guy and everyone felt bad so they had Craig―t-they had him do it."

"You said you saw him how many days out of that week and you already got him to kiss you? Three? You are downright― _fuck_ ―scandalous, Tweek!" His skinny arms wrapped around my shoulders and he rocked me back and forth inside the booth. "I'm so proud of you!" Pink in the cheeks, I rested my head against his chest and thought about how surreal it was to finally say it. Though I had told Kenny in the car that night, crying about it much to my embarrassment, it was nice to be able to admit the kiss in a calmer state of mind.

I closed my eyes as if it could cap my emotions, but there were too many to quell. All of them were contradictory. Delight and fear, comfort and worry. I couldn't keep track of them. Maybe I wasn't as calm as I thought I was.

"So when are you going back?" Thomas asked, sitting me upright before untangling his arms from around my neck. The notion that I might see Craig  _again_  made my chest swell.

"I'm not sure. Kenny and I have been tossing the idea around, but it's hard with s-school and work. It was actually pretty expensive." I still owed Kenny for one of those nights at the motel. "It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd stayed somewhere dingy, but I'm n-not good with anything that's not clean. Or my own."

Not that our motel had roaches crawling in it, but I'd brought my own sleeping bag and pillow and tarp to lay on the ground after disinfecting the area where I'd be sleeping―that's how "not good" I was when it came to public places. Especially when Kenny found someone to sleep with. I hadn't even liked  _walking_  by that bed.

My mom called my name and returned me to the present, pushing back thoughts of Kenny having no trouble sexing up some random Lakewooder while I awkwardly sat outside the door and texted Thomas to pass the time. I would've dutifully chose to sit in the motel lobby, except rapists and pedophiles were waiting for me down there, my imagination had told me. She called my name again.

"Yeah?" Before I could catch her behind-you hand motions, my dad passed by and dropped an envelope on the table with a short, "Here you go, son. Mail to make your day better." He disappeared, sifting through whatever else had been in the mailbox.

Five days ago I would have found this weird, a letter showing up with my name on it. Five days ago I wouldn't have recognized the capitalized block lettering, so uniform that it could've been printed straight from a computer. But the last few seconds of that night in Craig's apartment were plaguing my memory, and I knew that this was his handwriting because he'd provided dates and signatures to all of the papers littering the floor of his room.

* * *

_"Hey." A sketchbook, randomly procured while I'd had my back turned, hit me and fell. A pencil was Craig's second weapon of choice. "Give me your address."_

_"What?" I inquired, because nobody asked that question anymore._

_"I'm going to write you," he stated simply. "Give me your address." He was sitting on the couch, valiantly ignoring Kenny's attempts to hug him. When I asked him why, his answer was, "I want to write you a letter." And he seemed pretty adamant about it, so I picked up the paper and pencil and scribbled my address for what felt like the first time in my life._

_"You could've at least asked for my e-mail," I teased, not that an e-mail was any better these days._

_"I could've asked for your number, too." He shrugged and said, "Just call me classy."_

_That was when I booked it because I didn't want to have to say to him, "Why yes, you are a very classy man, you irresistible bastard you."_

* * *

_He actually wrote me._  A girl's giddiness could not compete with me, with this―whatever I was feeling _―_ this  _insatiable_  quivering in my body, my head, my emotions.

Everything was shaking and I loved it and it only got worse when I peeled open that beautiful white envelope with the same care my grandma used to give to her Christmas and birthday presents. We would reuse that very same wrapping paper the next year and I opened that letter so goddamn carefully that I could lick it shut again and it'd be like brand new.  _Sweet Jesus _―_ what if Craig's tongue has touched this?  
_

Thomas was wondering what the mail was supposed to be, but I wasn't listening to him. All of my attention was focused on this letter and I didn't have time for anything else. Using a precariously delicate hand, I removed the blank white sheet from its envelope and opened it up from the tri-fold Craig had bundled it into.

A smile ate away at my face, corroding my features until I was just one big grinning idiot.

It was...  _cute_. Just a simple:

_Come back soon, alright?_

But I adored it. He'd even put the Dear and the Sincerely, called me Tweek Tweak and himself Craig Tucker, and _―godfuckdickshit―_ this man was a perfect human being.

"What's this?" Kenny's voice came from over my shoulder. He was smiling against my ear, kissing the shell of it before finding himself a seat opposite Thomas and me. Stan was with him, raven haired and blue eyed just like Craig, though he was built more masculine and wanted to pursue law enforcement, not art. He just had something against cults, con artists, frauds, and the like. I guess he wanted to take them all down.

"I do believe," Stan began, obviously joking, "that he is holding a love letter."

"Why, perhaps you are right!" Kenny was humoring him. Fantastic. "By the color of his face I'd say _―_ " he snatched the letter from my hands, at least being careful toward its fragility, and read it over " _―_ that the young man of Tucker is asking for intercourse! And right away!" His old English accent was rubbing me the wrong way.

Stan gasped for a completely different reason than I did. His was sarcastic. Mine was  _utterly_  embarrassed. "Then we must hurry. The moon is waning and the young virgin of Tweak is to be stolen!" I looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Let us away! Kenny, man the sexmobile. Thomas, grab his arms. I'll take his legs. We need to get him to the apartment of Tucker and fast before the mood is lost!"

My  _mom_  was listening. A fear like gnashing claws with poisonous tips tore apart my stomach. Out of sheer paranoid terror, I snatched Craig's letter back and hid it inside of its envelope as though she could see the small letters from her distance and know who I was compulsively crazy for. The others quieted down at my disturbance and realized quite quickly what my problem was. Stan apologized for being so voracious; Thomas pinched my cheek in a comforting gesture.

Kenny responded differently, saying, "Stop trying to cover up your sexuality. You came out for a reason. She knows you're gay and she knew you were going to pick up some ass eventually. I'm sure she's subconsciously happy that you're happy."

"I-I'm not picking up  _anything_." And then my brain registered the rest of his words. "And I'm not  _hiding_  anything. I just don't want to make her uncomfortable. Clearly the thought of her son taking it up the butt isn't popular," I hissed.

"Clearly," the blonde repeated. "Whether he knows it or not, Craig is definitely giving you the go-ahead."

"No, he's not!" My outburst ricocheted back to me. The impact of my voice drew some attention, and again that of my mother's. I quickly quieted down. "Stop making this out to be bigger than it is. Stop exaggerating.  _Please_."

"He kissed you, Tweek _―_ "

"And it doesn't matter that he kissed Clyde? He talked about having  _sex_  with Clyde. I'm sure he kisses Token and Clyde's girlfriend and I'm  _positive_  that  _you_  have kissed him."

When he didn't object, I figured that his silence was his answer. It was only when I settled down that he spoke up, and I knew then that he hadn't answered me at all. He was just waiting so he wouldn't have to fight with me. "I'm not saying that the kiss meant anything to him, because it didn't. That's the way Craig is. Things take a long time to make sense for him. I'm just trying to reinforce your confidence, not that you even have any."

"My confidence?" I scoffed. He was right. The only thing I had confidence in was South Park and that was because it was a reliable town _―_ because it didn't have the ability to change. What a disappointing revelation. I was pathetic.

"You don't have to sound so negative," Thomas berated. He was often short-fused when it came to my negativity. After dealing with it for all of these years, I didn't blame him.

To make me feel better, Stan tried to play footsie with me underneath the table. I tried to smile to let him know that it was okay, that I was okay, but I felt it as much as they saw it and knew it looked too sad to pass their test. It couldn't even pass mine and all I was going for was an "okay".

Standing up, Kenny shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, ripped and tattered things that looked undeniably good on him, and said as he departed, "Then you better fix that. People think confidence is sexy. Including Craig."

Great.

Just another thing to push me farther into the deep end. I was a guy, I lived in South Park, I couldn't leave,  _and_  I wasn't sexy because I wasn't confident.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_I met a man of two feet tall_  
 _This man was quite ambitious_  
 _in a world that is so vicious to us all_

_―_ Never Shout Never, On the Brightside

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Since that first one, we've been talking through them quite frequently _―_ the letters. Since the first letter. We've been talking through the letters quite frequently. They make me nervous, often leaving me with disorganized thoughts. I have to go through numerous pieces of paper before finally achieving something that makes sense before sending it off the same day or early the next morning depending on when I received his.

Our letters probably weren't even worth wasting paper over since almost all of them were incredibly short, but the thought was all that mattered to me. And Craig's paper wasn't going to waste in my house. I took care of all of them in much the same way I've never been able to care for a pet. Not that I fed them and gave them water, although sometimes I felt like taking them outside for some fresh air; rather, I kept them clean and safe. These letters were going to live for a very long time.

They're organized, locked together with rubber bands in my desk. I have to duct tape the drawer shut so I won't be tempted to ogle at them all day. It wasn't just that they were from Craig that made them so important, but because they made my desk useful. My room was meticulously clean, nothing but labeled boxes and ironed bedspread. I tried not to move anything around because I didn't want anything to be misplaced, so pretty much everything I owned was useless. It was hard to misplace a desk, though, and that made me happy. Writing to Craig enlightened me with the same feeling.

Currently, I was holding onto that emotion as I replied to his most recent letter. Our conversations were growing thicker, and if we didn't stop, I feared our script would turn into fancy old cursive, the length of our messages twice as long, and our paper into crisp, tea-stained parchment. Maybe I'd start using ink and a quill just because I could.

There was a certain comfort I felt in being able to talk to him while not having to look him in the face. I could think over my answer and refrain from making a fool of myself. I could blush in the safety of my own room where he couldn't see and hopefully he didn't know. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe Craig would like it.

Now that it was on my mind, I recollected our entire stack of conversations.

* * *

_Dear Craig,_

_I'm working on it. It's harder to travel than you might think._

_Sincerely, Tweak_

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

I'm two hours away. Get your ass back here. You could walk and make it here in a day, I'm sure.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

_Dear Craig,_

_My legs are too short! Maybe I'll ride on Kenny's back and make it there in time._

_Sincerely, Tweek_

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

You're gay and shouldn't say stuff like that. I'm scared that I might subconsciously draw the image that just appeared in my head. Being an artist and all, I never know what might come out of my hands.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

_Dear Craig,_

_That was your own made up sexual reference. I had no part in it. I might ask my psychiatrist for a higher dose of medication though because I don't see that awful image disappearing from my head anytime soon. Thanks._

_Sincerely, Tweak_

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

Send me some. I might need it, too.

It's strange not hearing you stutter. I can hear your voice inside my head, but there aren't any extra letters in your spelling, so I don't hear your speech impediment when I read it. You should s-start writing to me l-like this.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

_Dear Craig,_

_Why?_

_Sincerely, Tweak_

* * *

I'd been angry when I sent him that one-worded letter, even debated whether or not I should put the dear and sincerely. It was a defense mechanism to be angry. Because I didn't understand, I didn't want to know the truth. The truth scared me.

And then his answer had been waiting for me in the mail box the next day.

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

You're angry with me. That's okay. I like your stutter. I told you, it makes you different.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

Things developed after that _―_ conversation wise. There was good subject matter, the stuff that we could go back and forth about, and then there were the poor topics that usually just ended abruptly and were never mentioned again. Not that there was anything I didn't want to talk to Craig about. I'd read his novel about his favorite kind of pencils or paints if he ever wrote me one.

Something that I learned was that Craig was shameless. He openly expressed his opinions and liked to write about what was going on in his head. I'd gotten a snippet of that when he mentioned the absence of my stutter in the letters I sent him and quickly learned that it was a regular habit of his, speaking so frankly.

I found that I quite liked it because he'd say stuff like:

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

Usually I play music when I draw someone. It's better when I paint, though. I think the music and the colors like each other. I didn't do that with you because I didn't know what you would think. If you'd like it. You were already on edge and if I made it worse, it would've come through in your portrait.

My song selection can be pretty hectic. I wouldn't have wanted you to get epilepsy from it or something.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

Or he'll write me saying:

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

Julibee and Julibob like to try to kiss your portrait. Literally, they root for it. I'll put a bunch of papers on the ground and hide it, and they find it and bring it to me. Listen to what they're trying to say and get back here already. Clyde's girlfriend misses you if that will bring you down here faster. She won't stop asking me about you and it's getting really annoying. She's even going to write something for you so you'll be just as annoyed as me. (:

_Come back to us and we'll let Craig sleep on you all you want. We know how wonderful it was to nearly suffocate under his fat ass._

She doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm built like a Spartan.

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

And my favorite one yet:

* * *

Dear Tweek Tweak,

It was the strangest thing just the other day. I woke up with a boner. Literally got the shit scared out of me.

So since you're technically crazy and all, is there a phobia of morning wood? Because I think I've got it.

How was your day?

Sincerely, Craig Tucker

* * *

Yeah, I thoroughly adore this man.

His current letter was sitting before me, staring at me and making me blush even though the content wasn't meant to be flirtatious or complimentary or anything of compassionate meaning. It was just Craig and that alone was enough to liven up my cheeks. We were talking about college and how he only just went back, give or take a few days. He said it was because of all of my pestering that he did it, but he would've gone either way. Supposedly he'd had to throw together some pretty impressive pieces to get back on his professors' good sides. One was a woodsy landscape. He said he was proud of it and for that I was excited to see it since I'd already seen what _I_  deemed impressive, drawings and portraits that he thought were just "alright".

He also liked to complain about work, at one point randomly mentioning how little he favored his job to which I'd had to ask what it was. Craig Tucker worked at a hair salon. I'd gotten quite a good laugh out of it and even opened up to him by cracking a few jokes. He'd told me he was just a salon assistant and did things like book appointments, greet the clients, prep the cliental, sweep the floor, and sometimes retail and stocking. He'd tried to rub it in my face once, gloating that he got his hair done or washed for free, but when I refused to stop patronizing him, he'd given it up.

Halfway through answering him, my bedroom door opened and Thomas surprised me by visiting. What shocked me even more was that Kyle let himself in right after. "Kyle!" Rising from my chair, I made quick work of the distance and met his embrace. It had been  _months_  since I last saw him, had felt the comfort of his sanity tying the rest of our unkept South Park group together. He was attending a medical school in Denver, having passed his MCAT, and was in the midst of completing his first four years. "What are you d-doing here, dude?" Strangely, there weren't any significant holidays coming up which were usually the only times he could make it out here.

"Stan called me down," he explained, keeping his arms tight around my middle. I missed the stability of his hugs and his presence and everything that he represented in our town. Things were a frenzy without him. "He said it couldn't wait and somehow I was able to sneak my way out of Denver."

The moment he said that, I snapped back, still in his arms but far enough away that I could look at his face. He'd grown up into a handsome human being. That was the only way I could describe him. Some people were sexy or cute or attractive. Kyle's adjective was handsome. It was probably because of his good nature and those lovely uniform ringlets of his; the genuine glow in his eyes and how well-mannered he was. "Kyle," I said slowly, comprehending what he'd just said.

"I know, I know, I know," he breathed, smiling something huge. My hands moved from his shoulder to frame my face, pulling and rubbing at my cheeks. "I'm trying not to get ahead of myself just in case it's nothing so don't get too excited." His precaution was complete bullshit, though. I looked back at Thomas to share a skeptical look with him.

He laughed, but agreed for Kyle's sake. "Just in case."

"Is he going to—" I attempted to ask, but the redhead wouldn't let me say it.

"So I heard you reunited with your lifelong crush." No longer did I cup my cheeks for the same reason. Now, I was merely trying to cover my blush. "And here I thought Craig Tucker was an asshole."

"Oh, he is," Kenny said, appearing in my doorway. "He's just got a soft spot for Tweek."

"No he doesn't," I told Kyle. "He said that I look weird and that's why he—"

Kenny's interjection came ready, calm, and sure. "He thinks you're cute." Thomas practically exploded somewhere behind me and Kyle wasn't about to believe anything I said to counter our friend's ridiculous words.

"He doesn't—" But again, there was no room for me to say anything.

"Pretty Lady called," an image of Clyde's girlfriend came to mind, her rosy cheeks and perky boobs, "said that she told Craig you were cute and that he agreed."

My chest was frozen. There was no way that Craig had said that. I turned my head to look at my desk, at those letters waiting to be finished as though I would see Craig there instead. All I saw was Thomas with this beast of a smile consuming the lower portion of his face.

When I turned back around, Kyle was there with a similar expression. "I came to invite you to dinner," he explained, saving me from humiliation. "Stan wants to get everyone together. I have no idea why." There was a secret in his smile, and for that alone I would push my anxiety aside. _Kyle's_  relationship was what was important, not my imaginary one with Craig Tucker.

"I can do that." My mom or dad could take my shift at work. There was no way I was missing this.

Kyle nodded vigorously, clearly nervous beneath the exterior. "Alright. Good. I'd say we can come back and pick you up around seven, but do you just want to come with us instead? We're going to see Stan. I haven't seen him yet."

It was my turn to smile condescendingly. The redhead's cheeks tinged pink. Inside I was unbearably happy that I wasn't the only one. "Of course I do!"

"Bring something nice to wear then, that way you can change before dinner." I nodded my head and he dropped his hands.

"Do you think I could—Could I uhm, finish writing Craig before we go?" The three of them must've planned it or something, because each of my friends cooed to torment me at the same time.

Mortified, I spun on my heel and went back to my desk where I hunched over and hid until the letter was finished, Thomas's giggle echoing down the hallway as he suggested, "Seal it with a kiss!"

When I finally made it outside, I got laughed at for putting my letter in the mailbox, but when I tried to get in the car, they wouldn't let me until I went back and kissed the goddamn envelope. "I hate you guys so much," I growled, throwing myself into the backseat with Thomas. My best friend grinned and pulled me into the middle, forcing me to sit right next to him. "Fuck around with Kyle or something."

"But we've fucked around with Kyle for  _years_ , Tweek," Kenny sniggered. "It's your turn now."

"Just take it like a man. That's the best you can do," Kyle advised.

He pulled out of my driveway and headed down the street. There were one of two places we were headed. Stan's old house, the one his parents owned, was a neighborhood away. I could remember going down there on occasion as a child, thinking that the walk must've been miles long with strange detours and monstrous hills to climb. As I grew, the walk became shorter and less adventurous. If I made my way down there now, it'd probably take about ten minutes. And then there was Stan's apartment that he shared with Kenny, coincidentally in the same complex as Wendy, Red, and Bebe.

As we turned out of my neighborhood, I deemed it the apartment complex we were heading for. Kyle had lived there for a short while before leaving for Denver. During the first couple of months, Stan hadn't known what to do in the midst of his best friend and boyfriend's absence. Everyone heard that Kyle had been much the same. Gradually, they'd gotten into a routine that was compatible with both of their schedules and still allowed them enough time to see each other regularly, so although I rarely saw Kyle, I got updates from Stan after a majority of their visits. When I could, I tried to meet up with him shortly after returning home just so I could see him glow. There was something about Kyle that revitalized him, and it was the sweetest thing to witness that rejuvenation.

Had I reacted similarly after visiting Craig? All I could recall was being very sad. I'd been a failure, and stupid, and useless. It wasn't until that first letter came that I tried  _not_  to be all of those things. Circumstances were different with certain people, I guessed, and Stan's was much different than mine. If I saw Craig again, I'd try to be happier. That initial meeting had just been so startling, absolutely nothing like I expected. But maybe I knew what to expect now so I could choose to react differently, hopefully a little more like Stan and little less like me.

And everyone else was... _optimistic_  about this Craig thing. Nothing had to come from it, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it. Just spending time with him was enough. Well _―_ that was incredibly false. It  _was_  sustaining, though. Something substantial that I could reflect on, a good experience. That's what Dr. Norris had explained it as.

From my thoughts came Kenny's voice. I removed myself from my stupor, listening in when he said, "And to our right is our newest inhabitant. The, uh _―_ rare and endangered species: Horny Marsh." To humor him, we all turned to look in the specified direction, and there we saw Stan shuffling down one of the apartment staircases. He half-tripped on the way down, and stumbled off to level ground. When he saw the car and recognized its owner, he gave Kyle the cheesiest grin and pretended to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Here, as you can see, he is doing a mating ritual to attract the wild, red-haired Jew."

"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," the wild, red-haired Jew snorted. He didn't even turn the car off before escaping, eager to see Stan.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

_But plant your hope with good seeds_  
 _Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds_  
 _Rain down, rain down on m_ e

—Mumford and Sons, Thistle and Weeds

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

They were the cutest couple ever. There was no denying that.

Whenever Stan and Kyle saw each other, it was enough to make me want to die. It was like their energies fused and they were just  _there_. Together. They existed and that was it and they were okay with that because the two of them were all that needed to matter. Their bodies leeched to one another, limbs a mass tangle of comfort and compassion. I could hear their conjoined laughter from inside the car. Thomas and I made eye contact where I told him with a positive nod, "Stan's proposing."

"You think?" Kenny scoffed, looking back at us. "Who do you think picked out a ring with him? Certainly wasn't Cartman, I can tell you that much." I bit my lip to hold in my excitement because, seriously, this was just too cute. I could remember elementary school, junior high, and high school. I could remember the past four years. The only constant throughout all of those years had been Stan and Kyle. Their evolution from Super Best Friends to horny, curious teenagers to boyfriends—it was remarkably obvious. If there was such a thing as "meant to be together," it was between them.

"What's it look like?" Thomas asked, leaning forward in his seat. I scooted over an inch to make room for him; the three of us met in the middle.

"Very simple, very classy." Kenny sliced his hand through the air to emphasize just how straight to the point the ring was.

I imagined Thomas and I with identical, insatiable grins. My eyes flitted out the window to where Stan had his hands on either side of Kyle's face, speaking to him in low tones that none of us could hear. His smile was fluid, purely happy and presented only when Kyle was near. Their relationship had a relaxed quality to it, one with an aura that expressed tranquility and comfort. When the two were together,  _I_  felt calm.

"And he's doing it tonight, r-right?" I asked.

"If he doesn't, I might just— _fuck_ —have to do it for him," Thomas agreed.

"I don't know," the blonde replied mischievously. "Kyle's going to be down here for a couple of days so it could be anytime between now and then."

My best friend and I groaned unanimously, leaning toward each other to express our twin sets of impatience. A knock on the window called for our attention. Stan was there waving at us to come out, his other hand occupied by Kyle's. Reaching over, Kenny removed the keys from the ignition before exiting the car. Thomas and I followed suit, receiving one-armed hugs from Stan in tandem.

He reminded me so much of Craig and I hated it. At least he didn't smell like vanilla and cigarettes. Laughing, Stan asked, "What's that face for?" When I looked up at him questioningly, he mimicked what must've been my face. He looked like he hated me.

There was no stopping the blush that graced my unfortunate cheeks with its presence. Hurriedly, I mumbled a quick apology as well as a soft-spoken excuse which was admittedly the truth. That he reminded me of Craig.

Kyle smirked at me knowingly. "Would you like to borrow my boyfriend?"

"W-What?" I sputtered. "God—no!" They laughed at me.

"Awh, come on, Tweek," Stan crooned, dropping Kyle's hand to take up mine. "You don't want to hold Craig's hand?" I wondered if one day I would and if I'd be able to tell the difference. Stan's fingers encompassed mine completely, stable and warm, just like his relationship.

"Oh, t-trust me, I do," I snorted, holding up our hands to see his blunt nails and strong knuckles. What did Craig's even look like?

"And I suppose I don't compare?" With an arm around Kyle's shoulders, Stan began to lead us toward the staircase that would take us to his apartment. It reminded me of the ones in Lakewood, all of those little pebbles infused together to create slabs to step on. Unfortunately, this one wouldn't take me anywhere near there.

Smiling grimly, I told him honestly, "Not even close." Craig was as close to Craig as you could get and that was it.

"That sounded like it hurt, Stan. How do you feel?" Kenny joked, smacking the man's butt with the back of his hand. Living with Kenny must've been a riot: never knowing when his hand would lash out and grope you, always expecting a sexual assault, locking the door before bed just in case. I didn't think I'd be able to do it. Even staying at his house overnight gave me a scare, though I've only ever done it once many years ago.

After complaining about the pain caused by my insult, a thing of which I hadn't meant—I swear—Stan asked, "So just how great is this guy? I know I haven't seen him in—what?—four years, but I distinctly remember wishing he'd left long before that."

" _I_  can tell you how great he is," Thomas assured.

Contrarily, Kenny inquired, "Why so protective, buddy?"

I was just mortified all over again.

"Tweek's like my little brother." My fingers tightened around Stan's hand at his confession. "I need to make sure he goes away to someone who knows what they're doing and how to take care of him. He's high maintenance." That was an understatement.

"Well, in that case, I can assure you that Craig has become quite the man. Delectable piece of ass right there." That was also an understatement.

We reached the third floor landing and started down a walkway, quickly coming upon a familiar set of numbers that took us into an equally familiar apartment. Stan and Kenny's place was more how I had expected Craig's to look. They had a regular rectangle of a couch, a table and chair setting with one chair that was white instead of black, an overflowing trashcan, some dirty dishes, and it smelt like a distinct mixture of the two men who lived there whereas I couldn't differentiate the accumulated scents in Lakewood. On a side table were a few video games and on the floor were some articles of clothing, presumably Kenny's.

There was lotion on the coffee table sitting right out in the open and I thought to myself that—the culprit once again—Kenny had no shame. I didn't want to know what I'd find in his room, so when visiting I usually stayed at the kitchen table because there was no way I was sitting on that couch. Partly because I knew Stan and Kyle have had sex on it—not together—and partly because Kenny did everything else on it. To be honest, everything in the general direction of the television terrified me. Out of fear and an unexpected experience, I never turned it on just in case it was stuck on some creepy porn channel. The remote's probably been splooged on. It was just best to steer clear if you were Tweek Tweak.

Still holding onto Stan's hand, I situated myself at the only place I felt I wouldn't be molested by lingering body fluids. Thomas and Kenny found a seat in the domain prude blondes refused to enter, and Kyle started off down the hallway toward what I guessed was his boyfriend's bedroom. Over his shoulder he called, "I'm going to say hi to your bed. I miss it." Yeah, I was sure there was plenty that he missed about that bed alright. Looking after him for a moment, I was sure that Stan wanted to reacquaint him with it. I let go of his hand so that he could leave, but his hold on my fingers didn't relent.

The look on his face was serious when he turned around, even more so when he kneeled before me where I witnessed it head-on. It opposed his earlier mood drastically and I was caught off guard by its grave intensity. "You like him a lot." My brows knit together. Clearly he was talking about Craig. Stan was one of the first people I'd trusted enough to spill my unyielding crush to. He and Kyle, and Thomas before that. Tenth grade they'd found out. The three had said they'd always known, though. I nodded my head.

He pursed his lips then looked away. When his eyes returned, he said, "You were either Clyde or you were Token and if you were anybody else, Craig treated you like shit." Stan forgot about Stripe, but I figured that I could let it pass. "He doesn't leave much room for other people in his life. I can't say that I know him very well, but he's—Craig is brutal, Tweek."

"He's honest," I mumbled, dropping my gaze. That's what Craig had called it: honesty. And sometimes people couldn't handle that.

"He's honest," Stan repeated, laughing. "Alright, let's go with that." I gave him a pointed stare. The warning in his eyes mellowed out. "You know I'm not telling you to stay away from him. I just want—..." His features contorted as though this were genuinely hard for him, whatever he was trying to do.

That's when the words came out, uncensored, completely bypassing my radar. "He's different with me." And then my eyes widened, my breath caught, and I tried to erase that before its meaning could register. But all I could blurt out was: "That's not what I meant! I-I  _swear_ , dude!"

Stan smiled a little sadly. "That's good to hear. That he's different with you."  _But I didn't mean that!_  "I just want to be sure that if you get hurt, it won't be by him. You care too much."

It was depressing really, how vulnerable caring could make someone. "You think I don't know that?"

"No, I know you know that." He nicked my chin with his free hand, returning my eyes to his. "And if he kisses you—" He meant a  _real_  kiss, one instigated by emotion, not out of pity. "Or tells you he likes you—" That sounded quite nice to be honest. "Or wants something from you—" I could guess what that something was, and just the idea gave life to my cheeks. "You make sure that you _both_  benefit. Don't do things for you and don't do things for Craig. Okay?"

"Okay." I didn't want to agree because I didn't want to believe it would happen, but I understood as much as my experience would let me even though I hated all of this "just in case" bullshit. To wash some of it away, I joked around by saying, "This is the talk that I never got to have with my dad."

"Then just call me Papa Marsh." He grinned and got up, kissed my forehead, and warned the rest of us: "Try not to bother me for as long as possible, alright?" I watched his back as he retreated to his room. To Kyle.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_I felt the earth_ _beneath my feet  
_ _Sat by the river_ _and it made me complete_

—Keane, Somewhere Only We Know

* * *

While Stan and Kyle had sex and then what was probably a short nap, Kenny entertained Thomas and I by bringing out his hookah so he could teach us how to blow smoke rings. I've always thought they were just a genuinely cool instrument to look at, and Kenny's was no different. The base of his, the glass orb, was his trademark color: orange. It was infused with numerous shades and tones, resembling fire. There were a few bulges, round in shape and varying in size, making up the stainless steel pipe sticking straight up out of the base. Three hoses were attached to the sockets protruding from the pipe. In the bowl at the top, he informed us rose and vanilla shisha was inside. The coals over that were lit and inside the base, smoke was collecting, shifting and fogging up the inside.

Blowing smoke rings turned out to be a forte of mine. I had a variety of odd quirks—double-jointed limbs, could lick my elbow as well my nose, made strange noises with my mouth like water dropping and weird clicks; my tongue could often do strange things—and smoke tricks had now become a part of that. Kenny had even kept the hookah going until Stan and Kyle reappeared so that he could force me to show them. Thomas then proceeded to ask if Craig still smoked and, if so, then I should blow hearts his way. I didn't find it as funny as everyone else did.

By then it was half an hour before seven, and all of us were getting ready. That was when I found out we were going to a fairly expensive restaurant and thought for sure that that was all the proof I needed, that everyone needed, to fortify my guess that Stan was definitely proposing tonight. Standing there in the bathroom, tucking my button up into my trousers, I looked at my reflection and started laughing at myself with my little thighs accentuated by my little slacks compared to Clyde's girlfriend and her little boobs and her little figure. She had a boyfriend and I didn't. Kyle was about to be engaged and I was nowhere close to even having a boyfriend. And I had to ask myself,  _Do other people fret over this as much as I do?_  Because I couldn't seem to stop.

Stan drove us to the restaurant, and when we arrived, there was a small party there consisting of Bebe, Wendy, and Butters as well as others who had yet to arrive. Those who came later were Cartman and Red, fresh out of work. Stan was going to propose. Stan was going to propose. Stan was going to propose. Kyle was frantically exchanging glances with Thomas, Kenny, and I throughout dinner. He was clammy the entire time, fumbling around with his silverware and losing the food on his fork on multiple occasions. It was a relief to be able to laugh and hear others laugh at someone who wasn't me. Compared to Kyle,  _I_  came across as normal. Even Stan had to cover his face quite a few times at his boyfriend's uncharacteristic clumsiness. If I was reading into the man correctly, he seemed to be enjoying it about as much as I was.

Thomas and I shared a dessert of which was entertaining because we were whispering to each other about when the ring would show up. Was it hidden away in Kyle's cheesecake? Would it pour out of the next bottle of wine that came around? What if Stan stayed as classy as his ring and randomly got down on one knee? The wait was making me nervous and Kyle's anxiety was rubbing off on me even from across the table. But then dinner passed and no proposal was made.

That was when Stan informed us that he wanted us all to hang out at Stark's Pond.

That was when I knew. I think we all knew.

So our group found itself moseying around the darkened park and the pond that's been ever-present throughout our childhood and teenage years. There were just enough lights around to illuminate the shallow end of the water and the surface rippled, glittering exquisitely. The rocks beneath looked as though they were still warm from earlier that day, from the sunshine.

A lot of memories were held here and everyone got to sharing some of their favorites. Wendy brought up her and Stan's ill-fated past—their many rendezvous' at the pond—a thing of which Kyle hadn't even considered an obstacle. He knew that he and Stan would end up together and he'd been patient as he waited for his best friend and Wendy to realize the same. Stan's first confession to Kyle that he loved him happened here. Cartman and Kenny laughed about their camping experiences, someone brought up boating, Butters admitted that he'd play by himself just at the water's edge when no one else was around. We've ice-skated here in the dead of winter. A murder investigation took place in the area at one point. This was our pond.

And Stan was about to add to it one more time.

He leaned toward Kyle and announced offhandedly, "So I talked to your dad just the other day." My eyes narrowed suspiciously as I tried to figure out which direction he was taking. Everything that's come out of his mouth I've associated with proposing, and every time I've ended up wrong. I just wanted it to happen already.  _Kyle_  wanted it to happen already. Most everyone quieted, though Kenny attempted to keep up a conversation just for distraction's sake. The redhead turned away from the dying exchange to look up at Stan instead.

"Oh," was all he said at first. His brows twitched. "It was a good talk...right?" He sounded hopeful.

The smile on Stan's face was contagious. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he shrugged for no reason, and said, "It was a really good talk."

I wanted to feel Kyle's pulse because he just about looked like he was shutting down. "Okay."

Stan's smile grew and then he licked his lips, nodding momentarily before turning toward the redhead. He made a show of adjusting his pants, causing anyone who wasn't Kyle to stifle their snickers, and I could see that something was cradled in the cup of one of his palms. I didn't have to see it to know what it was. My hand instantly sought Kenny's. His fingers wrapped around my own and I had to hold onto him tight otherwise I wasn't going to be able to keep myself together.

The look on Kyle's face as Stan knelt down on one knee—it was beautiful. It was an unabashed look of repressed knowledge. He knew what was about to happen and yet this wild, childlike sense of obliviousness was trying to keep him away.

But then he said, "That's right. You get down on one knee, bitch." There was no controlling our laughter although we might as well not have even existed, because Kyle only had eyes for Stan in that moment. Big, green ogling eyes that were so serious, they grew consumed by liquid. He hadn't been joking; it had been a threat.

"Kyle Broflovski," Stan addressed, voice tender. This was the voice that meant incomprehensible things to Kyle, I realized, because his hands started shaking and he eased himself to his knees so he could be level with Stan. Their eyes never broke contact and I had to look away from the intimacy engulfing them. "Can I have your hand?"

"Which one is it again?" Kyle asked, nearly mumbling. Thomas bit his lip at the redhead's sudden cluelessness.

That smile of Stan's reached his eyes, and then breached it, overflowing everywhere. "I think it's the left."

With that same aloof quality, the redhead wondered, "Yours or mine?"

"Yours," the raven haired man whispered. Kyle's hand lifted limply as though he were jointless. His fingers fell into Stan's and was held in a gentlemanly way. Cherished, that's what that hand was. Stan brushed his lips against its knuckles. "Will you marry me?" And when Kyle nodded numbly, he requested, "Let me hear you say it."

"Yes," Kyle breathed. Tears spilt over his lash line. "Yes."

I had never witnessed happiness before tonight.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_But I learned that there's a certain character that can be built from embarrassing yourself endlessly._

—Christian Bale

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Ten at night found us huddled in a circle—short the fiancés. That particular couple had stolen away to have a moment with themselves some time ago. The girls in their dresses plus Cartman sat on the bench while the rest of us occupied the soft, downy grass.

"This is good for them," Wendy commented. She cleared her throat and added under her breath, "Better than I would've been." If that wasn't a good laugh, then I didn't know what was.

"Can you imagine that being you instead of Kyle?" Red asked her, humoring the idea.

"I used to," she admitted, shaking her head as though she couldn't understand why that was. "We'd just end up getting divorced like five times, though."

Kenny sniggered, "Five times is an understatement."

"And then you would've gotten— _bastard_ —pregnant and had little black haired, blue eyed babies," Thomas added. Cartman pretended to gag and beat the shit out of one of the imaginary babies.

"At least they would've been smart and strong," Wendy prophesied.

Snorting, Cartman jeered, "Well don't you two just have the golden genes?"

"W-Where do you think they'll get married?" Butters wondered.

"Iowa, here we come," Bebe mused, referring to the ordeal between same-sex marriage and Colorado. Same-sex marriage and practically everywhere.

"Iowa? Fuck that," Cartman boasted.

"Their options are kind of limited, bro," Kenny said.

"Yeah. But Iowa? That shit's all the way over there." He pointed in the wrong direction, but I got the gist of his meaning.

"Well, wherever it is, you're going." Kyle's order signaled his and Stan's return. Our circle expanded, welcoming them in. I thought I might've been the only one staring, fixated on that slim ring around his ring finger, but when he blushed and said "Cool it with the eyes guys," it occurred to me that this was not the case. It took me a second before I could divert my attention. I just really liked the three tiny silver bands of rope making up its body.

Abruptly, Kenny came to a stand, his phone buzzing in his pocket. Kyle sighed amongst the relief of losing the spotlight. I expected the blonde to walk away to continue the call, but instead, he came around to my side of our collected group. "We got a call for Tweek Tweak!" He announced, kneeling down behind me where he held the phone out and said, "It's on speaker."

Wonderful. Now the attention was all mine. "Hello?" I asked, speaking to no one in particular. There was some shuffling and that was it. More than anything I was confused. Everyone was looking at me as though I knew what was going on, but I didn't want them thinking that because it wasn't true, so I shook my head, lifted my shoulders, and took the phone in my hand. "Hello?" I repeated.

"Tweek!" Immediately I thrust the phone away from my face. It was Clyde's girlfriend, loud and clear.

"Hey." My greeting came out as confused as I felt.

There was the sound of a door opening, the water running, and then Pretty Lady calling out, "Your butt is so cute, Craig!" Kenny clapped me on the back, Thomas covered his mouth to drown out his laughter, Kyle bit his lip, leaning into Stan who smirked at me—there were many reactions and all of them were thoroughly embarrassing. "You've got to see his butt. He's got dimples!"  _Yeah, okay,_  I thought, internally ripping my stomach apart.  _That is really cute._

"O-Oh," was all I gave her and everybody laughed at me. I had to clear my throat before asking, "What's going on?"

"I'm giving the phone to Craig so that you two can talk! I hate having to wait for your stupid letters to go back and forth." I was about to retort that I thought the letters were fun when she said something to Craig about taking the goddamn phone because his mom was on the line. Then came the sound of the door again, and I figured that meant that she'd left.

This time, it wasn't Pretty Lady's voice that spoke and everyone scooted closer to hear the voice of the guy who left four years ago and never came back. "Yeah?" His tone was deeper through our connection.

_He really thinks I'm his mom._  I joked without even contemplating it. "Hey, honey. Just c-checking in to see how you're doing." The group found it humorous and I was kind of proud of my sense of humor.

For a moment, there was no reply, just the sound of the water.

"Wow, mom. You sound more feminine than I remember."

It was my turn to remain silent. Fortunately for Craig, he'd made a wonderful first impression. Everyone got a kick out of his insult.

"It's Tweek," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Your stutter kind of gave it away."

I pouted, irking Thomas into patting my cheek. "I thought you liked my stutter."

_You fucking idiot._  I hadn't meant to flirt like that. I really hadn't. Not in front of all of my friends at least. As though it would help, I blocked my face from view with my free hand.

"I do," he said. "It's my favorite thing about you."

"My  _stutter?_ " I asked incredulously.

"Well," it sounded like he got in the tub from the way the water sloshed around, "that and your eyes."

His confession only caused them to bug out. "What?"

"I like their color. It's pretty." Because of that, practically everyone within range landed a punch on either one of my arms. I guessed it was supposed to be congratulatory, but instead it was just humiliating. That and it hurt.

"Just s-stop talking," I told him, cheeks reddening.  _Sweet Jesus, why did he have to tell me that?_  "You're on speaker and everyone can hear you."

"Oh. I see." My pulse picked up speed. He saw what? "I'm only supposed to say things like that in private."

My hand dropped to cover my mouth. In disbelief, I shook my head. "N-No, that is definitely  _not_  what I was trying t-to say, dude."

"No," he disagreed. "I think you were."

"No. I r-really wasn't." Why did we have to be having a conversation like this in front of everyone?

"Your stutter got worse. I think you're nervous because you know I'm right." There was an amused lilt to his voice. He was just teasing me. He had to have been.

"Well, I t-think it's time to talk about s-something else, so..." I trailed off, hoping he'd show me at least a little bit of mercy.

"You really shouldn't have said that."  _Oh God, no._  My stomach plummeted. "Because my next conversation piece is about how I'm naked in a bathtub." Thomas whistled to the side of me and I had to punch him to shut him up. His laughter was about as helpful as his whistle, though.

I mouthed the word  _thanks_  to him. "And your n-next one after that?"  _Please don't say anything about your penis. Please don't say anything about your penis._

"I suppose I could tell you that I've got a pretty big—"  _Fuck, he's going to say something about his penis_  "—loofa." My heart skipped a beat, I swear. "Naw, I was going to say dick." And then he started laughing, telling me, "Its funny because you're gay."

"You're like a child," I scolded, trying to frown because all of my friends—or our friends—whatever the fuck they were—thought he was just as funny as he thought he was.

Eventually, he hummed amusedly, simmering down from his comedic streak. "So when are you coming back down here?" Everyone was eyeing each other, sharing secret smirks. It made me nervous watching their exchange.

"I don't know, I-"

Kenny interrupted me. "I'm thinking this weekend. How does that sound?" My head snapped around so I could gawk at him. We never talked about this. The last thing I heard was that we'd go when I could actually  _afford_  to travel to Lakewood, and that was certainly not this upcoming weekend.

He smirked down at me, but I wasn't going to put myself in debt to him. For all I knew, he'd want payment in the form of my body. "You're not p-paying for me, dude! I  _just_  paid you back! I'm broke."

"It's alright, Tweekers. We'll figure something-"

Just as I was about to object for the second time, Craig beat me to it. "Yeah, my apartment's definitely not big enough to take in two extra people."

It was silent for a second. And then I asked, "Is he being sarcastic?"

Thomas quirked his brows at me, Kyle mouthed  _get that_ , Kenny fastened a hand around my shoulder and shook me violently. The phone nearly fell between my fingers as I realized that Craig was offering to let us stay at his place. I'd sleep in the same vicinity as Craig Tucker. My life was suddenly perfect.

But of course I had to ruin it. "I—I don't know. I mean, I'm weird when it comes to..." Everyone was glaring at me.  _Sweet mother of God._  "...sleeping, uhm."

"We'll take the couch, Tweek," Kenny assured. "That's better than some random motel bed, right?"

"W-Well, I—uh—shit. What if," my cheeks were ablaze, "somebody's fucked on it?"

"Do you want someone to fuck on it?" Craig asked.

"God no!" I shrieked. The sound echoed violently against the trees, might've even stirred the pond. Snickers erupted all around me. What came next was an onslaught of rushed words and panicky breaths, disgust and the need to clean my body relentlessly. "I just—the particles and the— It's the f-fucking body fluids, okay? Semen, and—and  _vagina juice_  and lubricant and I don't even know. Dead skin cells o-or spit or something! I don't want it near my face, dude!"

As though it would solve the problem, he suggested, "Then just take my bed."

_You don't understand!_  I wanted to scream. Instead I said something even worse. "But you—I mean, don't you—? I, uh." Across the circle, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

I had just made the inclination that Craig masturbated in his bed. And of course he did. It's just very...  _impactful_  when mentioned so...  _awkwardly_.

"You're impossible, Tweek." Humiliated didn't even begin to describe how I felt right then. "You're kind of screwed wherever you go, if you know what I mean." Well, I certainly understood that now. "If you really need me to, I'll take the couch with Kenny and I can buy some new bedsheets and you can take my bed. Fresh and never jacked off on."

The worst part was that even Kenny was cradling his head in his hands, embarrassed  _for_  me. Second hand embarrassment sucked. Feeling second hand embarrassment towards the second hand embarrassment already felt because of your embarrassment was even worse. "I'm so sorry," was the only thing I could say.

"Are you? Because I just lost my bed to the couch, got stuck sleeping next to a pervert, and I'm naked. What else do you want from me?" When I started mumbling incoherently, he said, "I'm just fucking with you, dude. Stop being so easy to mess with."

I said "Okay," completely serious, and he laughed at me.


	20. Chapter Twenty

_A subject that is beautiful in itself gives no suggestion to the artist. It lacks imperfection._

—Oscar Wilde

* * *

Friday evening around six the two blondes chose that opportune moment to show up. I hadn't even known, busy out in the yard with the dogs because I thought it'd be a regular day, smoking and occasionally singing to them. Usually I got really into taking them outside. We'd race each other down the stairs and then the both of them would beat me into the grass. They'd ridicule my measly human speed by yipping and jumping on me. I'd smoke while we played fetch with whatever large sticks we could find, and then I'd find a random song on my phone and belt it into their faces, smashing their puppy dog features between my hands. Sometimes I even danced a little. Old tunes like Corey Hart or Dexy's Midnight Runners just went straight to my bones. It was nothing I could control, especially when  _Come On Eileen_  played. That song was so catchy even the Julibeagles hopped around with me.

I have no idea how long I was prancing around for before Pretty Lady called for my attention from the second floor landing. The dogs took off for the stairs just as I squinted and recognized the two figures standing next to her. By the giant grin on Tweek's face, I'd say they'd been watching me for a while. My eyes slid clear down to view my evening attire, although to be truthful I'd just woken up and was only wearing this pair of sweats cut at the knee that belonged to Clyde, an article of which I didn't even remember putting on; then I scanned the other apartments, both windows and landings, because sometimes I attracted crowds. All I had was a relatively small audience, nothing more than a few children, so I turned the music off and headed after the dogs.

When I made it up the two flights of stairs and was on level ground with the three of them, Kenny called out, "Nice moves, bro!" Yeah, I was pretty sure they'd seen the majority of my performance. Hopefully they'd enjoyed my little snapping number. Nothing was more classy than that. I'd been pretty energetic today, even went out of my way to pick up Julibee and swing her around a couple times. Julibob had danced with me hand in hand. At one point I'd gotten on my butt and put their paws on my shoulders so we'd all be relatively the same height. Sometimes they barked along with me and it felt like we were singing together.

"You think?" I asked, giving him the option to rethink his compliment. He only smirked and held out his arm. We clasped hands and brought each other in for a clap on the back. Maybe the next smoke break I took he'd come with me and I could show him how it was done. As we pulled away, I noticed that Tweek was trying desperately not to look at either of us. I wasn't about to give some awkward greeting, so I just went with it and looped my arm around his shoulders. He stumbled into me, letting out his breath against my chest. His forehead just nearly came to my collarbone. "Have you always been this short?"

He turned his chin up and looked at me. The color of his eyes—it was something else. I didn't even know what, but it was unbelievable. That tint of green outlined by his long lashes fixed everything that had been wrong these entire past few weeks. His cheeks were always so pink. Frazzled by my inquiry, he indigently whimpered, "No! I—I grew a lot, dude! I'm just not a f-fucking  _beanstalk_  like you."

"That's what I am? A beanstalk?" Tweek nodded vigorously. "Alright, green pea." I let him go and started for the open doorway to my apartment.

" _Green pea?_ " He cried, following after me helplessly.

"Green pea?" I mimicked, my voice a few octaves higher. The julibeagles were settled down on the couch, wagging their tails spastically, more so when I flopped down next to them and rested my head against Julibob's ribcage.

Tweek's glare was weak when he pinpointed it at me. "I don't really sound like that, d-do I?"

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't be so easy to fuck with." That's when Kenny came up behind him and all I could think was,  _this poor kid_. He was swooped up from around the waist, screaming so violently that it brought Token—worried out of his mind—from his room. Clyde was peeking out of the kitchen to see what was the matter. "Put him on the couch with all of the vagina juice," I instructed, raising my voice above the voracious blonde's.

"Hey!" Pretty Lady growled, clearly the only woman who's juices would be anywhere.

" _No!_ " The word was torn from Tweek's mouth. Fear in its purest form had taken ahold of his features, pupils dilated, nails clawing into Kenny's constricting arms. I was fascinated by it.

But Kenny didn't listen and the dogs beat it as soon as they caught wind of the impending danger and then all I could think was,  _poor Craig Tucker. Poor Craig Tucker and his measly human speed._

I'd barely even moved an inch when Tweek was hurled onto the couch. He landed on his stomach, half on top of me, an elbow in my gut. It was more shocking than it was painful. I'm sure that had he landed on his back he would have taken the landing more smoothly. Instead he sat up immediately and screamed, "You  _fuck_ , that wasn't fucking funny!" He was genuinely pissed off, his tone scratching where he got particularly furious, specifically when he cussed. I glimpsed the edge in his eyes when he turned to look at me, a lightning spark that was there and then gone. All of his rage quickly fled as he murmured, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to land on you."

"Don't worry about it. I've got abs of steel." We both looked down at my stomach where I was more skinny than muscular. A redness was beginning to form where he'd elbowed me just beside my bellybutton. Our eyes reconnected and Tweek cracked a smile because I most definitely didn't have abs of steel. "You know what you should do?" His brows rose in curiosity, enlarging the shape of his eyes. "Just punch him clear across the jaw."

Tweek peered over his shoulder at Kenny who smirked and motioned for the small blonde to bring it. To me, he asked, "Can you do it for me?"

"It'll be more satisfying if you do it yourself."

"Do I look like I know how to punch someone?"

"No." I sat up next to him and lifted my right hand, curled it into a fist as an example, and told him to do the same. His fingers were so dainty compared to mine. He had some sharp ass knuckles, though. "Keep your thumb below your knuckles and get him right in the jaw." His eyes followed the movement of my arm and hand as I punched the air, slow enough for him to catch on.

There was this huge smile on his face by the end of my instruction and I inclined my chin toward Kenny. "I hate you so much, Craig," he said to me as Tweek made to stand in front of him. Clyde and Token bumped fists before stepping closer to watch the inevitable payback. Pretty Lady leaned against the kitchen table, arms crossed, expression amused. Kenny was given no moment to collect his bearings because Tweek's fist was promptly thrust fast toward his face. There was the sound of bones clashing, a reverberating knock.

Swearing viciously, Tweek cradled his hand against his chest. In the same moment, Kenny stumbled blindly. He just barely caught himself from crashing into the wall, gingerly holding his jaw. It was silent as we all watched him blink almost confusedly. "Sweet Jesus," Tweek laughed. His cheeks were flushed with excitement. "That was  _awesome!_ " And then he saw how out of it Kenny was and all of the color drained from his face. "I'm  _so_  sorry. I'm so sorry, Kenny." He enveloped the taller man in his arms and pet the side of his face. "Are you okay, Kenny? Oh God, oh God, I'm so sorry."

"There's only one thing," Kenny wheezed, clearly faking it—the wheezing, not the pain clearly expressed in his powder blue eyes— "that you can do to earn my forgiveness."

"What? What is it?" Tweek looked genuinely scared that he was about to lose one of his friends.

"Your body," Kenny croaked. The smaller blonde asked "what" again, to which Kenny explained: "You must give me your body."

Tweek shoved him away. "Fuck you."

Clyde found this funny and laughed. Kenny stumbled happily, sniggering under his breath, steadying himself against the wall. "But really, I just about blacked out for a second. You hit me hard, dude."

After threatening Kenny with "Yeah, well next time it's going to be your dick," he asked where the bathroom was. Pretty Lady directed him down the hallway, first door on the right. When he left, his hands were twitching and his jaw was clenched tight. Clyde questioned Kenny as to what Tweek was doing.

"He's scrubbing whatever skin touched the couch," the blonde answered in short.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked shortly after. Kenny wasn't an asshole unless there was a reason for it.

Wiping his hand down his jaw, he told us, "I wanted you guys to know that he's got some issues and he's very serious about them. If there's at all a possibility that he can hide them, he'll try. But now one's out in the open, so he doesn't need to hide it anymore."

"But we knew something was wrong. He told us he was a sick," Pretty Lady said.

"Yeah," Clyde agreed. "I mean the three of us" —himself, Token, and I— "grew up with him. He's obviously got problems."

Kenny nodded as though he were agreeing, but then he said, "But did you know that anything he touches that his brain perceives as dirty sends him into a mild episode?" Nobody could say they did. "He's a bit of a germaphobe, but it's not a severe case of OCD. Not like his other compulsions. You should see him in a motel room. You're lucky that he knows you guys, otherwise he wouldn't be handling any of this as well as he is."

"He told me pretty easily," I mused, referring to our conversation over the phone a few days prior. I wasn't sure if Kenny knew that I knew about the general overview of Tweek's medication.

"That's because," the blonde began, sifting through a couple of bags on the kitchen table that must've belonged to either of them, "you're different." He picked out a backpack and threw it at me. It hit me in the chest before tumbling to the ground. "Give that to Tweek, alright? He'll want his own soap and shit."

"I'm different," I repeated, picking up the backpack before heading toward the bathroom. The door was shut and the light was on. I could hear the water running but I hoped he wasn't using the toilet because I was about to walk in on him.

Inside, I was honestly dumbfounded by what I saw. Tweek was bent over the sink, his arms fully submerged under the water, and from the water, steam was rolling. His arms were a sunburn red and his fingers were trembling.

The blonde jumped at my intrusion. When he saw where I was looking, he took his arms away and held them against his chest. "I-I'm not usually this bad," he defended. "I—I just— I started thinking about it and then I couldn't... Bacteria dies in boiling water, right?"

"You were trying to boil your arms?" I asked, setting down his backpack in favor of turning the water off and taking one of his limbs in my hands. He flinched when I touched his skin, though I didn't think he was burnt. It was like when the bath water was too hot and you stepped out all red, except a little bit worse. I could tell by the expression he wore that he was ashamed.

"Don't look at them."

I wouldn't let him take his arm away. Instead, I smoothed it out between the palms of my hands and asked, "Can I draw you?"

"Right now?" His tone was incredulous and his cheeks turned pink when I nodded my head. "O-Okay."

Momentarily, I left to go grab a drawing pad and some charcoal. When I came back, the backpack was open revealing multiple prescribed pill bottles and Tweek was splashing water on his face hopefully at a temperature that was significantly less harmful. He made to wipe his face dry, but I stopped him. I liked the little droplets collecting at his chin and the moisture clumping his lashes together. With a wet hand, he nervously pushed his bangs away from his forehead. The water tracks gave him a delicate appearance, made him glisten.

We sat down on the wall of the bathtub where he could watch his portrait unfold from upside down. Our knees touched briefly, occasionally. The more he looked down at himself, the more the light in his eyes softened. He began to come across as content rather than sad, while his image on the paper did the same. His lips were parted, head cocked slightly to the side. At one point he said, "You make me look better than I actually do." It got me to laugh, because sometimes people had such low self-esteem, and it must've been the sound of my laughter that got a little smile out of him. It'd been breathless but it had existed, and I knew that I would sketch it later as well as all of the things I had seen from him since he's been back. That fear and anger, his hint of regret for temporarily ruining his arms, all of those different lights in his eyes.

I'd draw him any way and every way that I saw him. I  _encouraged_  any way and every way from him. Maybe we could experiment. Maybe we could play around with the light and backgrounds and angles. We could diverge from his face and I could capture his entire body. I wanted his hands and his legs and how slender his neck and shoulders were. This would be fun. Excitement and inspiration was something I rarely found but for some reason I could leach it from this quirky, little blonde. He was my Stripe in human form. We could help each other.

I took my red charcoal and drew two lines on either side of him. It registered immediately what those two sunburn stripes represented; Tweek didn't like it, not one bit. His jaw tightened and he looked away, arms drawn against his chest self-consciously. I turned the paper toward him so that he could see himself directly. "What do you look like?" He didn't say anything or remove his eyes from their focused stare on the sink. "Do you look angry? Or sad? You don't look ashamed do you?" That was the key word that forced him into glancing at his portrait. Timidly, he shook his head, bangs returning to his forehead.

"It's okay that you did that," I said to him. "It's okay to feel disgusted, and it's okay to clean yourself off. Don't be upset. You just handle things a little differently than other people."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

_It is only too true that a lot of artists are mentally ill—it's a life which, to put it mildly, makes one an outsider. I'm all right when I completely immerse myself in work, but I'll always remain half crazy._

—Vincent van Gogh

* * *

"We should go out for dinner," Token suggested despite it being eight at night.

"McDonalds it is," Clyde snickered.

We were all situated on the couch, remarkably so. My two best friends were spooning near the middle, Pretty Lady was flipping through the television channels with her legs overlapping theirs, Kenny was stretched out in the back, and Clyde had his head resting in my lap. Tweek was positioned at the edge, one of the dogs on his legs, the other pawing at his feet, whimpering at what little attention they were receiving. Our couch wasn't necessarily the biggest, but because it was a circle, it managed to fit everyone.

"IHOP," Tweek recommended. I could see him being the breakfast-all-day kind of guy. Cinnamon french toast lathered in syrup, a cup of hot chocolate, and scrambled eggs unsalted because he didn't want to clog his arteries. It made sense. Village Inn, Paradise Bakery, Souper Salad—those were the places he ate at, I was sure. Not steakhouses like Outback or Texas Roadhouse.

"Let's do it," I said, but it was one of those deals where nobody moved. In fact, I reclined so that I was more comfortable.

"Who's driving?" Pretty Lady asked.

Nobody offered so eventually Kenny said, "I guess we could all fit in my truck."

"Yeah," Tweek scoffed. " _The bed_. I hate it when you put people back there."

"Dude, that's the best place to ride," Clyde said.

"You've obviously never done so," I added, speaking to Tweek. "Otherwise you'd be all for it."

"It's not safe," he told us.

That's when we started saying things like: "Only if you throw someone overboard," and "You'll be the first to go."

"Way to tag team the shit out of him," Token laughed, sitting up to clap Tweek on the back. The blonde was rigged and practically snapped into pieces at my friend's touch. "I don't like sitting in the bed very much; we can take the front with Kenny."

"Thanks for leaving me with the assholes, Token. Now  _I'm_  going to be the one going overboard," Pretty Lady grumbled.

"Yeah you are," her boyfriend promised.

"Damn it," Token swore. "Sorry, Tweek. I'm a gentleman. I have to save the damsel."

"Tweek's gay, though," I said. "He's basically a woman." Everyone laughed whereas Tweek gave me an unamused look over his shoulder. "What? I'm helping you out, bro—I mean little miss."

His jaw dropped. I could've made a gay joke, but I didn't want to push my luck. "I'm not sitting in the bed."

"You sound so sure about that," Kenny sniggered.

Tweek had just enough time to glare at him before Pretty Lady said, "I suppose I could trade my spot in the truck for the one in the bed if you kiss Craig again." His features were utterly blank for a moment, though his blood knew just how to react. A blush burst across his cheeks, and he must've felt the heat, because his eyes widened suddenly. The color in his face brought out their lovely green hue. I wanted to paint him in that instant and knew that when I did get the chance to do so, he'd be blushing when I did. I'd make him if I had to. I'd sit at my easel naked just as long as it got his cheeks to turn that exact shade of bubblegum pink.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His lips looked nice, full and shapely in their state of shock. It was a good emotion on him, I decided. My gaze moved to settle on Clyde's girlfriend who was grinning slyly. "You planned this," I accused her, suspicious of what she was trying to gain. Did she have some secret homosexual fetish that we didn't know about?

"I wouldn't say  _planned_." Her grin grew more sinister. "I just saw an opportunity and took it."

"Must've been a pretty tempting opportunity," I snorted, tipping over and wiggling around until I was relatively close to Tweek. He was staring down at me, his blush expanding across the bridge of his nose. A smirk curled the corners of my lips. His look of steady bewilderment amused me. "It's not like we haven't been here before." I made the joke to ease the tension and motioned for him to come on down.

As Tweek leaned over me from the opposite direction—our kiss would be upside down—Token said, "This can be our new tradition. Every day Tweek and Craig have to give each other a kiss for our entertainment." Kenny seconded that proposition, followed by Pretty Lady. Clyde swore under his breath something about we need to get some straight people up in here, causing the blonde to smile just as our mouths touched. He had to turn away for a second and giggle before giving me an actual kiss with his soft lips.

"I feel like Spiderman," he admitted as he pulled away. His eyes were exuberant just as they'd been the first time we'd kissed. I was enamored by them. "And you're Mary Jane."  _Just keep looking at me with those eyes and I'll be your Mary Jane for as long as you'd like, little miss._

"Is he your favorite superhero?" His blush darkened and he mumbled an affirmative. I couldn't help but laugh to which he looked offended in a way that stemmed from embarrassment. "You have a crush on Spiderman."

"What? I—yeah, okay. Maybe a small one." Clyde rolled off the couch whining about being stuck with such a gay fuck, and when his girlfriend commented that she found it cute, his whimpers grew more heightened.

"So that's who your cockblock crush is? The one your boyfriend broke up with you over?" Tweek choked on his next breath, staring at me incredulously. Kenny literally blew up with laughter beside me, even punched me for being so goddamn funny with a strength I didn't know he possessed. It hurt and I regretted joking about the unrequited love of Tweek's life immediately.

The remaining three who didn't know about this matter started questioning the blonde who was still attempting to catch his breath. It could've been taken as an insult how nobody could believe he'd ever had a boyfriend, but it was understandable. I'd been surprised upon hearing it, too. "The l-least you could've done was say that _I_  broke up with  _him_ ," he hissed. Another intense round of laughter came from Kenny. "You should let me punch you for that, asshole."

Pretty Lady was quick to agree. "Yeah, Craig. That was a low blow." She had it out for me today, was even going as far as to appear smug as my punching lesson backfired on me.

"My jaw's already starting to bruise," Kenny informed thoughtfully as I made to get off the couch and stand. I flipped him off, assuming a position as I waited for Tweek to gently shoo the dog off his lap. He came to stand in front of me, this big ass prideful smile consuming his pretty little face.

"You know I'm not punching you in the jaw, right?" He asked, sniggering this mad sound that made me remember his threat from earlier:  _Yeah, well next time it's going to be your dick._ Although it'd been addressed to Kenny, I guessed now that I'd wronged him, it went either way. Tweek Tweak was a venomous bastard.

Clyde, Token, and Kenny were clapping their hands, laughing hysterically amongst themselves while Pretty Lady was showing Tweek how to give a gnarly looking uppercut or  _something_ —whatever it was made me feel like a emperor on the brink of demise. This short, gay thing was going to obliterate my rein and I was going to let him.  _Fuck._  I covered my face with my hands and was just about to say my goodbyes to the Julibeagles when his fist connected with my crotch and all I could think for one colossal second was, Y _ou heinous prick_. He waited for _nothing,_  went straight to the point and that was it.

My body keeled over and Tweek was there to envelope me as I began to fold in on myself like a dying spider.

I couldn't concentrate on anything but the crumpling of my entire body and my racing thoughts of,  _He's a little fucking sour gummy thing_. Tweek eased me to the ground.  _He's a fucking sour patch kid._  Those things in the commercials that did terrible, terrible things and then made up for it by being so goddamn sweet. That's what he was trying to do. He was trying to make it up to me by saying, "I can't believe you just let me do that. You deserve to be Spiderman. I'm sorry for calling you Mary Jane. I'm s-so sorry, Craig."

All of this was sounding vaguely familiar and I mimicked Kenny without even thinking about it, too occupied with caressing my stinging crotch to actually think about what I was saying or how Tweek had shoved Kenny aside just after. "There's only one thing that you can do to earn my forgiveness." I tipped sideways against the blonde and he clumsily plopped down on his butt. Groaning, I made a show of burrowing my face against his throat, just a bit desperate for some ice and maybe a new wiener. It just really sucked because I liked the original one even if it was defective. The only positive at this moment was that the blonde smelt like a bakery. Fresh and warm and homely.

"I'm going to let that one slide because you're delirious," he said, and was generous enough to scratch the back of my head just the way I liked it. The tension in my shoulders lessened and my hands went slack between my legs. I let out one giant sigh before relaxing completely, a victim to his fingers raking across my scalp.

"You're a demon," I mumbled. It occurred to me then that everyone was laughing about how I'd shrunk in on myself upon impact and how tormented I sounded whenever I spoke. I was idly aware of Token excusing himself so he could grab his camera.

After a few pictures where Tweek was instructed to "pretend like you're wringing his neck", and once I was capable of standing, we left to go to IHOP. Clyde's girlfriend had gotten her way and was sitting in the bed with her boyfriend and I to which we pretended to toss her over the sides whenever we came across a stoplight. She didn't appreciate it. By the time we got to the 24-hour restaurant, I was a new man. I even held the door open for everyone and everything, said that I'd get the bill and let Tweek take my seat even though I loved that seat and always sat there at every table, although it seemed that he was the same way—just a little more crazy about it. Throughout his numerous apologies he managed to explain that if he didn't sit in that exact seat, nothing would be right for the duration of the night.

"Don't sweat it, dude. I don't need to sit there, so if you do, that's okay." I sat across from him instead, but this guy was relentless. He kept mumbling about how maybe he could  _try_  to sit somewhere else, and that ended with me thunking my head against the table continuously. Kenny kept elbowing me in the ribs like _see, now you get to deal with it, too_. Tweek ended his spiel full of stutters with how he was just going to get some orange juice. "You're not getting coffee?" I asked, just as our waitress arrived.

I could remember waiting on people back in South Park as one of my first jobs. It'd sucked because all of the people back there had no manners regarding people  _or_  food.

"I don't know, man. They're e-expensive," was his reason.

Sighing, I looked up at the woman. My first thought was,  _Kenny's getting with her tonight_. She was a pretty little thing with rich brown eyes, nearly black they were so dark. I pointed at Tweek just as I said, "He wants a coffee. I don't know what, he just wants a coffee." His booted foot jut out to kick me beneath the table. It took me by surprise at first but I managed to grab his leg before it retreated. "You little shit," I snickered.

He grinned, wiggling his foot around in my hands as he ordered something with the word Swiss in it. I wasn't really paying attention in my attempt to take his boot off and I didn't even make a dent up until drink orders were placed where I had to ask him, "What kind of contraption is this?" Clyde had ordered for me I was so stumped by Tweek's footwear.

When the waitress was gone, I replaced her presence with the blonde's skinny leg and my lap. "This is stupid," I grumbled, thoroughly distressed by what I found. It was a mere ankle boot, but there were zippers and buckles scattered all over the place. To be honest, I supposed it looked good, fashionable, but the two of us weren't on good terms at the moment. And then Tweek lifted his foot, bent over his leg, undid one of the zippers and slipped the boot right off. He held it out to me like a piece offering. "I don't want it anymore." I'd said it like a child and I was laughed at for it.

What I really wanted to do was take his sock off. His foot was confined by one that was simple and black and my immediate reaction was to remove it so I could tickle it. Instead, I snatched his boot away to shimmy it back into place. Tweek was enjoying the attention, sitting snugly against the booth, sipping at his water, eyelids lowered as though he were trying to hide the vivaciousness showing in his eyes.

Unfortunately, I didn't have any sketchbooks hidden in IHOP. All I could do was stare and memorize. I guessed this was where being a photographer like Token won out over the time it took to draw and paint and commit features to memory. For the briefest moments, Tweek caved and raised his eyes. They met mine only to dart away rapidly, just a flash of green. His cheeks took that moment to ignite and he turned his head entirely. It was on impulse that I reached out and lightly tapped his cheek to get him to right his head.

"Are you two ever going to look at your menus?" Pretty Lady asked, feigning exasperation.

Just when I said "Clyde can order for me," Tweek said "I know what I'm getting."

"What are you getting?" I asked.

"Cinnamon French Toast."

"Dude!" I exclaimed, momentarily a genius. "I knew it! And hot chocolate and scrambled eggs without salt, right?"

The blonde cocked his head to the side. "Uh—no."

"Oh." I returned to my customary state of boring.

"Sometimes Craig thinks he can foretell what people are going to order," Token explained just as our waitress returned with a tray of drinks.

"Hey, I got the first one right." The girl began to distribute our drinks as she named them off. Tweek got this monstrous bowl of coffee with whipped cream, Pretty Lady some fancy looking beverage. She gave me Root Beer. "Really, dude?" My question was directed toward Clyde. He was my best friend and knew that I hated Root Beer.

Just as I made to take a sip anyways, he started laughing and said, "I'm just fucking with you, dude. Here." He switched me sodas. A Root Beer for a Pepsi.  _That's right._

"Prick," I scolded, leaning across Kenny to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

Clyde rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I love you, too." I was pleased when he puffed out his cheeks and we did a pufferfish kiss, pressing our lips together and smashing each others faces until the air rushed out.

Kenny pointed toward the dark-eyed waitress in offering, saying, "I love you."

Her eyes narrowed, but she was smiling, and when Kenny winked, she gave him this little grin that definitely said something along the lines of _yeah, we'll be fucking later._  "Are you all ready to order or do you need a minute?" She asked.

Token lifted a hand to let her know he was ready. "I'd like a new group of friends. Please." And then he smiled charmingly, continuing with his  _actual_  order.

"I don't think I like what you said back there," I told him once all of our orders were placed and Kenny's latest victim was gone.

"Yeah," Clyde agreed, glaring at our best friend.

"Seriously?" Token asked, tossing his head back against the booth with his hands over his face. He knew what was coming.

I echoed Clyde. "Yeah."

"Yeah," the brunette said again. We looked at each other and grinned.

"Yeah," I said for a second time just to rub it in.

Pretty Lady put her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table. "They do this all the time," she informed the two blondes. "Token has the worst friends ever."

"Hey!" Clyde was quick to scold her.

It only made sense for me to follow. "Hey."

"Okay." Token relented. "Okay, you guys. Who's first?" Clyde and I began to go on a rampage, repeatedly muttering "me" back and forth until our friend lost it and practically lugged the brunette closer to plant a big kiss on his mouth. He turned to me next and I had to extend my body across the table to receive my kiss.

"Your kisses," I started as I leaned back in my seat, "they light up my life."

"Shut your mouth," Token laughed.

"Only if you call him a dirty whore," Clyde promised. We high-fived above Kenny's head.

"I'm not calling him that."

"I don't know how you've put up with them for so many years," Pretty Lady remarked.

I smiled because I liked to think about how long it's honestly been.  _Preschool._  Every time I thought about it, it blew my mind. Not only the length of our friendship, but that we used to be so little. We'd had no idea where we would be when we were twenty-one, never once comprehended that age or place. Things just used to exist and  _be_  and nothing was ever the matter. I'd been so devastated when all of that changed, when I saw that it was Ruby who existed and just  _was_  and that I couldn't be a part of that anymore.

Growing up was an awful thing. Having to learn how to care was even worse. Not necessarily about people—though of course Token and Clyde were a given—but about consequences and considering options. Payments, bills, keeping a job, graduating school, getting into college, checking in on Ruby to make sure she hadn't been impregnated by some sick fuck. It was hard and I was still learning and I didn't ever think I'd get the hang of it.

The look Tweek was giving me returned me from my stupor. He had this suppressed smirk like he was trying not to laugh at me. "What?"

"You've had bedhead all day," he confessed.

"Oh?" It didn't really mean anything to me, but it did to him, so I humored his confession.

He nodded his head. "Your hair's sticking up everywhere." I ran a hand through my locks and could feel their disarray between my fingers. I must've had a good sleep last night.

"You can fix it for me when we get home." His brows knit together, confused. "Wash it for me and stuff."

"Really?" He asked, appearing genuinely excited by my offer. And then he turned conniving. "Why not just go get a free wash at your work?"

"Alright." I shrugged my shoulders. "I can do that too. Tomorrow or something." And then  _I_  turned conniving. "But tonight you get to do it for me."

Tweek was smiling all the way up until our food arrived and that's where it dimmed to placate for the presence of his meal, probably thinking he'd look pretty chummy just gazing starry-eyed at his bread. He must've been stoked to finally get to clean something. I'm sure it's been nagging at him since he showed up knowing that he'd be sleeping and temporarily living in all of this stuff his brain perceived as dirty.

Our waitress even brought out a new friend for Token to acquaint with: create-a-face pancake. Clyde and I didn't like her so we asked if we could get her to go, knowing exactly how to punish her buttermilk face and banana slice lips for attempting to steal our best friend. "That cunt better not have been put on the check," I threatened to no one in particular. I just wanted to get my point across and eat easy—though that was virtually impossible because when Craig Tucker ate, Craig Tucker ate  _good_.

By no means was I a messy eater. Food wasn't shoveled blindly into my mouth. My plate wasn't there and then gone. I didn't race my own hand to get food inside my mouth. I didn't barrel down chunks or talk with my mouth full. Instead, I paced myself and inhaled everything steadily. I was a marathon runner in food-eater form. The majority of pieces were cut into sizable bites and my plate was nearly spotless afterwards, absent crumbs or unwanted bits and pieces. I'd been born with an appetite that could acquire every taste. My palette was diverse. There was nothing I couldn't or wouldn't eat. I tried anything.

And when my favorite part of dinner came—the part where everyone gave me their leftovers—oh, it was a glorious moment in the life of Craig Tucker. I was given both dinner  _and_  breakfast because Pretty Lady hadn't been able to finish her crepes, rather focused on her fruit salad instead, and Clyde couldn't do away with his meal of one too many combinations. I hadn't ordered breakfast and neither had Token, a thing of which he'd passed down to me on account of having a rather substantial lunch. I'm pretty sure the only reason Kenny gave me some of his food was just to see if I actually had the stomach to eat it, and by the time that was conquered, Tweek was staring at me as though he were frightened.

Just knowing that miss create-a-face was sitting two seats across from me, whole and untouched—it practically killed me.

I was like a garbage disposal in a sink that devoured anything and everything.

_I am the food disposal._

"Are you aware of how much f-food you just ate?" The astonished blonde asked. He'd barely gotten through two of his four pieces of cinnamon french toast. Props to finishing his scrambled eggs, though.  _Salted_  scrambled eggs, damn it. He could've gotten bacon or sausage with his meal but had declined, leading me to figure that he could quite possibly be some type of vegetarian.

Pretty Lady explained in my defense. "He has to eat everyone's leftovers. It can't be taken home otherwise it's no good. To him at least."

"By the time it gets home it's bland," I added. "But—" I stood up, causing my three roommates to groan unanimously. They've seen this so many times it was no longer cute. Lifting up my shirt, I said, "Look at my baby chub." I gazed down at it proudly: my temporary, protruding gut.

"Oh my God," Tweek laughed, sharing a wry look with Kenny. "Okay. Yeah. That's adorable." I grinned cheekily. Of course it was. "Can I touch it?"

This got me to laugh. "By all means, touch away." I shot a look to either of my friends and the woman. "See, it's still just as charming as always."

"This is the first time they've seen it, Craig," Pretty Lady snorted. "Of course it's going to be charming. It charmed us right into feed you some more the first time."

"And a few times after that," I recalled just as Tweek outstretched his hand and cupped the slightly rounded pudge collected near my naval. His fingers were fragile and warm and I kind of felt like a pregnant woman.

My stomach grumbled against those dainty fingers; the blonde stared up at me blankly. "Well then." Our friends started laughing. "Desert sounds wonderful," I said.

* * *

After tossing miss create-a-face over the bed of the truck while going ninety down the freeway, I ended up in the bathroom with Tweek. Clyde was pissed because he hadn't gotten to use it first and began a whining tantrum outside the door when I told him we'd be a while. Too bad for him. The blonde thought it was just the funniest thing making my best friend wait. I guessed someone was already using Token's bathroom, another unfortunate circumstance for the brunette.

"Make sure you scrub good," I reminded for the sake of reminding, sure that cleaning every strand of hair spotless was a forte of his. Just as long as he didn't try to burn off the bacteria, he could perform whatever purifying technique he wanted. Currently he had me bent over the faucet in the tub, warm water pouring over my head. "If you have some super sanitary shampoo, you can use that." It was meant to be a teasing remark, but Tweek answered seriously, saying he'd much rather use my own. I smirked knowingly. "Smells good, right?"

He smacked my butt with the bottle before plunging his fingers into my hair to make sure the locks were fully saturated. "Sit up," he instructed, positioning me so that I was straddling the wall of the tub. Water drizzled onto my bare shoulders. The droplets tickled as they scattered down my back, chest, and biceps. Tweek put himself behind me with a dollop of shampoo shared by both hands.

This time when his fingers interwove throughout my locks, there was a significant movement in which they stimulated the soap in my hair, lathering and massaging. It felt damn good, the kneading of my scalp and the plushness of the shampoo's foamy texture. Tweek had ideal hands for this kind of thing. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, body practically humming in relaxation. I've always loved getting my hair washed but this one in particular was certainly becoming my favorite. He even did that thing where the index and middle fingers—or maybe it was just the first—I worked in a salon and didn't even know—gave a good rub to the space just before my ears. That was a weakness of mine.

Something like a mixture of a groan and a chuckle drizzled from my mouth. "You're good at this," I professed, voice nearly a growl. I heard Tweek grin just as he turned his wrists up and stroked his fingertips against the bottom of my hairline and then just behind my ears. The blonde's presence warmed my exposed back and I could tell when sometimes he was closer than others. This entire experience was just mind-bogglingly fantastic from his nails that would, every now and then, rake against my scalp to how he worked the shampoo into the length of my hair, not focusing solely on just my roots.

"Alright," Tweek said. "Now let me see before you get back under the water." He wanted to witness whatever awesome hairstyle he'd concocted on top of my head. So I did as told and spun around to face him. Instantly, he broke into a smile, reaching out to play with a few strands with his soapy hands until he was satisfied.

"Cute, right?"

His smile widened. "Very."

I nodded, satisfied myself, and returned my head to the faucet.

Tweek stood over me, one leg in the tub, his jeans rolled up to his calves, hands returned to my hair. For a second time I wanted to tickle him, but I was afraid he'd slip and fall and crack his head and then he'd have permanent brain damage and end up scarred for life and never let me draw him again. It would be an untimely demise for the both of us.

After conditioning and a final rinse as well as a quick towel rapidly rubbed around my head for a minute, Tweek took to finger combing my damp hair away from my face. There was a soft light in his eyes almost muting their green hue, but not in a way that took away from the color, and I thought that if I could draw him, I'd be able to read what it meant, but Kenny was knocking on the door saying something about how he needed to talk to me real quick. The blonde snatched his hand away hurriedly, cheeks doing what they always did.

"Thank you," I told him and left before he could try to stutter out some inaudible reply. Kenny pulled me into my room, turned the light on, and shut the door until it just barely met the doorframe, leaving a sliver of space.

"I'm leaving and probably won't be back until tomorrow," he began.

"Isabelle?" The girl from IHOP.

"Yeah buddy." He grinned and quirked his brows. "But I fully intend for Tweek to survive this visit, so I'm going to tell you what you need to know."


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

_I find out a lot about myself by sleeping. Dreams, they are who I am when I'm too tired to be me._

—Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale

* * *

Kenny's advice didn't matter until the second night, a night of which he was missing once again though this time it was because of some guy named Colton. They met at the gas station when Kenny had made a cigarette run earlier that day.

I hadn't been sleeping. I'd been drawing. Images of Tweek often kept me awake until I was so irrationally tired that I could think no more. The moment where he had been terrified by the thought of touching the couch—and yet he'd fought me until he could sleep there, but only with unused bedsheets—was just coming together. I was going heavy on the eyes, bolding his lashes and practically digging the led of my pencil into the paper to emphasize his pupils. That's when I heard him.

A chair might've fallen over or maybe he'd crashed into the kitchen table. Whatever it was, a raucous noise had accompanied his unexpected screams and the dogs came running to my door. That's what scared me the most, that the dogs had come to get my help. I was gone from my chair and the first thing I thought was: _Tweek's got this thing called a nightmare disorder. His reaction when he wakes up can be a little hazardous when he's somewhere unfamiliar. He doesn't know where he is, so you have to talk to him first. Let him hear your voice before he sees your body. Give him this to calm him down._

Kenny's words from yesterday. The medication.

They were instructions on how to care for Tweek should anything bad happen. And now this.

At the mouth of the hall just before I exited, I told him wherever he was in the dark all shaking and breathing heavy, "It's okay, Tweek. I'm right here." Light from Token's room obliterated some of the darkness. Clyde's bedroom door was open too, but he wasn't awake. He was the type that passed out and didn't wake up unless the sun was out. His girlfriend quietly ushered the dogs into their room.

From the sound of it, the shuffling and the stunted breaths, Tweek wasn't on the couch anymore. As I left the hallway, I headed for the kitchen. It was a mere few steps away and the withdrawn pitch black figure on the ground gave him away completely. I got on my knees and crawled the rest of the way. "It's Craig. You're at my place so everything's okay." When I reached him, I held out my hands to feel for him just as Kenny'd said.

_He does really well with physical contact. Maybe you'll be all warm and cuddly, eh?_

Well, I hadn't been sleeping—just dressed for the occasion in boxer-briefs—so my skin was at the same temperature it always was. For Tweek's sake I tried to call upon my core and release some kind of heat, but I couldn't tell if it was working. My fingers wrapped around his arms; I pulled him closer to get some movement into him.

Clammy, that's what he was. Shivering, still breathing uneven. I wrapped my arms around him, cradled his head against my chest, and rubbed his back where I felt his ribcage and spine all hunched over like he was.

His hands sought me out, finding purchase at my bicep where he coiled his fingers around my arm and clutched it tightly. It was like once he could touch me and figure out that I was real, that this was real, his entire condition changed. He slumped against me and exhaled deeply. My fingers began to pick up traces of warmth from his skin. "I'm sorry," he whispered. If I hadn't been so close, I wouldn't have heard him.

"It's okay. I wasn't sleeping." I slipped my hand from his neck to his hair. He turned until his forehead was pressed against my chest.

Voice soft, he murmured, "I thought I could hear music."

I was the one who apologized this time.

It surprised me when he started to sniffle. "Are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

"I'm fine." He spoke quickly. "It's just—in my dream, I was—this isn't me, I'm just— It's what's l-left over from what I dreamt." I got it. Like when you were in the middle of a wet dream and woke up orgasming. Or maybe just when you woke up with morning wood. I mean, you had to have been dreaming of something.

"Alright." I just found it kind of funny that he'd called a nightmare a dream, like maybe what normal people categorized as nightmares were just regular dreams to him.

He was still mildly trembling when I nestled him into my arms and helped him stand. "We're going to my room, alright? You'll sleep easier in there. Clyde'll be jealous that you got to cuddle with me, but that's his fault for not waking up. You can gloat about it in the morning. How about that?" I didn't get an answer for a while, all the way up until we reached my room where I think the light comforted him.

"O-Okay." Slowly, I sat him down at the edge of my bed where he started as though he'd forgotten it was a waterbed. His fingers practically fisted my arm and I had to wait for him to calm down before gently shaking it loose. He didn't want to let go.

"It's okay, Tweek. I'm going to be right back. I need to get you some water and then I'm going to give you something to help you fall back asleep. You won't have any nightmares this time." Our eyes met. That fear was inside of them, the one I'd been drawing, just more contained. "Get under the covers and make yourself cozy," I told him, ruffling his hair.

Out in the kitchen, I watched Pretty Lady make the couch back into a bed. She asked me what happened, how was Tweek, would he be okay? As I grabbed a water from the fridge, I said, "He's fine. Kenny said it's a nightmare disorder. Don't worry about the bed. He's sleeping in my room."

"Then I'll make it for you." She was anxious and needed to put something together to calm her nerves.

_It's not often that anyone's there to take care of him when this happens. Usually he'll stay up with all of the lights on for the rest of the night. So just lay down with him, okay? Try to get him to fall asleep again._

"Tweek's getting special treatment tonight. We're cuddling it up in my room. Don't worry about the bed," I repeated. She finished it anyways.

"So he's going to be okay?"

"Yes."

We walked down the hall together and disappeared into our separate rooms. In mine, for being such a prude toward germs, used bedsheets, dirt, body fluids and whatever else he had it out for, Tweek was finding all of that to be just the snuggliest. He'd been staring ahead at the wall, blinking monotonously, and perked up when I came in. Perked up as in blushing, but I took that as a good sign. It was a very Tweekesque thing to do. From my dresser I grabbed the bottle of pills Kenny had given me and tapped one out.

The blonde took it and the water, looking as far away from me as he could when he swallowed. He was ashamed again, quite obviously. "A-Are you going to lay down with me?" He must've been worried that I was going to leave when all I was actually doing was closing my door, turning off the light, and shutting off my music.

"Oh yeah. We're about to get _real_  close, little miss." I think he stifled something that sounded like a giggle, or maybe he'd just yawned all cutesy-like.

At my bed, I sidled in next to him and he literally turned frozen until I situated us to my liking. Because he was on his side, I laid on my back and got him close to  _my_  side, an arm around his shoulders for his head to rest on. It was the repressed waves of my bed that de-thawed him, slowly eating away at his tension so that he could melt against my chest, cheek flush against my pectoral. Every breath was a warm puff against my skin.

Quietly, because the dark always called for whispers, Tweek said, "I'm sorry you have to do this." He sounded tired, worn out, annoyed.

"Stop apologizing for things you have no control over." I could feel his legs brush against mine and wiggled it over so that they'd touch. Physical contact would help him. It'd let him know I'd be here.

"But they're  _my_  dreams," he insisted, flinching before settling against me.

"It's your subconscious. And your subconscious is strong. You can't do anything about that."

My thumb began to stroke the curve of his shoulder. I wondered if it angered him that I always defied whatever he said.

"Strong enough to fuck with me every night." He brought his hands up and started rubbing at his eyes, and when he yawned, his nails bit into my skin. Goosebumps prickled along my arms.

His body was wholly relaxed against mine. "No more thinking about that. Just go back to sleep, okay?"

While he did so, I stared into the darkness and all of the white noise that it was made of, thinking—just thinking. It looked like static, or maybe it was. Darkness itself was just kind of unbelievable. Where did everything go? Did anything have any meaning anymore if it no longer held an image? Did  _I_  mean anything anymore?

Once, I painted a dark landscape. Painted it as black as it would go and tried to figure out what was inside it. I have no idea how long I stared at that thing trying to distinguish whatever could be cloaked, and eventually I got so angry because I couldn't figure it out that I threw it away. It scared me not knowing even a possibility. I'd been the one to create it but it was like whatever was inside that black room or pit or maybe it was just the darkest part of the sky, wasn't mine and I couldn't name it if it didn't belong to me. Those were somebody else's things.

Though it had been a couple of years ago, the painting had come back to me in a nightmare. I guessed it was supposed to be symbolic, this monstrous black canvas that ate my bed and then Clyde, and Token, and Julibee, and my favorite restaurant, and this pair of shoes that I really liked. I liked them so much I think I loved them. And when the painting swallowed them up, it was like they had been erased from my life. They became meaningless and disappeared and I became nothing because I didn't have anything that mattered to me anymore. That next day after I'd woken up, I took the dog out on a walk with Clyde and Token, had dinner at the diner down the street, and wore my favorite shoes the entire time. I also repainted a new canvas because I knew then what was inside of it that time.

Lifting a knee, I threw my other arm above my head and curled the one around Tweek a bit tighter. He molded easily to my figure as though he'd melted and shaped himself to fit snug against me. One of his legs bent and his calf crossed mine. His breath had evened out, chest moving rhythmically. I wanted the lights to be on so I could see him. In my head, I imagine he'd blinked himself to sleep, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until they'd closed entirely. They were resting against his cheeks now, and they'd flutter when he eventually woke up. His lips were parted, something I could tell by the way his breath exited his mouth. I wouldn't mind if he drooled on me.

Pondering Tweek's sleep encouraged my own. It was something that snuck up from around the bend and coiled me inside of its nocturnal cocoon. Kenny hadn't told me what to do once the nightmare-hexed blonde was safely fast asleep. Passing out seemed like a damn good next step, though. The ripples in my bed—this smooth, seamless lull—tugged at my consciousness. A heavy exhale crawled slowly out of me, loosening my muscles and taking with it any tension. My leg fell and I didn't even realize it.

I rolled over on top of Tweek and slammed straight into a liquid wall of dreams that pulled me right under.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

_You are someone else,  
I am still right here._

—Johnny Cash, Hurt

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I don't know how long we were sleeping like we were. We could've been like that all night. I'd allowed myself to drift off so near, but I was still startled when I comprehended our position by the next day. I mean—it was...  _vulgar_.

And I liked it. I liked it  _a lot_.

My body was splayed out haphazardly across my back, one leg spread and bent at the knee, the other locked between Craig's thighs. Both of my arms were wrung around his shoulders. He laid on top of me, his skin this wonderful warm blanket, his weight a secure presence holding me down. A hand was cradling the nape of my neck. I was aware of how firm his fingers were, how they grounded me. His head was on my chest, resting just above my heart.

This—all of this—caught me by such surprise that my pulse began to pound. Suddenly I was hypersensitive of everything: the heavy sound of his breath and the steady touch of his skin. My heartbeat was so thunderous that I was terrified it'd wake him. I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths and tried to talk myself into a calmer state of mind by stating simple facts. _Craig and I fell asleep together. We're barely wearing clothing._  Those were the only two thoughts it took for a insatiable smile to split my face in two.

Bottom lip between my teeth, I bit down and slid one of my uncontrollable hands down the expanse of his back, mapping out the uniform protrusions of his spine and the curve of his body. Our skin was so smooth, rubbing together like it was. My other hand wandered into his hair, fingers curling around his thick tresses. He exhaled a long sigh and I hugged him to me, not wary of the strength I used because of his thick skin and strong bones. There was a lightness expanding in my chest and it wanted to come out, but I didn't know how to uncage it, so I bit my lip harder, inhaled Craig's scent deeply so the feeling would have more room to grow.

It came out shaky, unstable in contrast to the unwavering massage of my fingers in his ebony locks. This made me happy, just laying here like this. I could take care of him, scratch his scalp the way he liked and forget that I wasn't normal. That I wasn't allowed to do this and needed to take my medication otherwise my stutter and anxiety would be unbearable. But I wouldn't leave yet. I'd wait for him to wake up so I could continue existing here while he breathed against me. All I had to do was have a night terror and moments like this were mine. It was so simple.

He began to stir, this light rustling of his limbs—and then we were flipped around. My face was buried in the pillow next to his head while I thought absolutely nothing but,  _I'm laying on top of Craig_. Today would be a beautiful day if this continued. His arms coiled around me, tying me in place against his broad chest. In place, in place, a place. This was a place. My place. There was an ache beginning to form in my lungs. I could feel his heartbeat, paid attention to only that for some time, and let it seep into my bones. Something was right when my own began to correspond with his.

Something that lulled me into a daze where the only thing I did was run my fingers through Craig's hair.

I laid there the most relaxed I've ever been and cherished every goddamn second that I didn't think some paranoid thought or twitch uncontrollably. Craig was like a sedative. A relief. He was that breath of fresh air after being underwater for so long, trapped and kicking and always looking up at the light reflecting in the water like splintered glass.

Withdrawing my face from his pillow, I lifted myself up onto one of my elbows until I could take him in without my vision blurring. It hurt to look at him, to see everything that I wanted bundled together in this single man and not know how that could be. He was one person made up of the most attractive, tempting, captivating stuff that attracted, tempted, and captivated me so badly. The Craig from before, the one from South Park—he'd been untouchable then. He'd been awful and dangerously attractive. Restricted and in control. But this Craig—he was haunting. This was a man that instantly fell into a different category. A suave, sexy thing that permeated all of that refined history he used to be.

His features were masculine without being overbearing. It wasn't a rugged masculinity, but polished in a gentlemanly way. There was a supple curve and plushness to his lips, a sculpted arch to his eyebrows, a definite line constructing his nose. When I looked at his jaw, I could see him angry and clenching it in my head, grinding his teeth together. The tightness suited him, punctuating his strong bone structure. His pale skin—a healthy, creamy color—contrasted greatly with his ebony locks. They were all mussed from sleep and tickled his forehead while in other places they stuck up. Just looking at him made me smile.

My thoughts delved deeper, returning to two days ago when Kenny and I had shown up. Craig had been singing and entertaining the dogs. His voice hadn't even sounded bad, a smokey tone that worked well with the old songs he'd been singing. Every time he went out there I liked to listen to him. It was the discovery of these little quirks that really made the trip down here—the growing pile of homework and disgruntled parents and discomfort at being away from home—manageable. Kenny had taken to singing with him though, ultimately breaking the allure of Craig's voice. The dogs didn't like it as much either, but Craig liked having a buddy to belt out lyrics with, so the three of us were forced to deal.

For a quick second his expression pinched. I watched curiously as it immediately smoothed out. He began to stretch and move, bones cracking and muscles clenching as though I weren't even there, lifting me when his back arched and sighing this grizzly monster of a breath right into my face. It stopped when we rolled over onto our sides, twisted in his sheets and fused together because of them. They were doing me a huge favor I noticed, lips lifting when Craig blinked momentarily, this splash of icy blue in a black and white backdrop.

A noise somewhere between a growl and a whine slipped from his mouth before he promptly made an exaggerated attempt at burrowing his head against my chest as well as wrapping himself around me, legs included. My hands sought the back of his head and the tip of his spine upon reflex to scratch the distress right off of him. It must've been the light seeing as it'd gradually begun to turn lighter and lighter since I'd woken up.

Craig mumbled something completely incoherent. I asked if he could repeat himself. He did, and I was caught off guard just as much as I was humbled. He'd asked how I'd slept.

"G-Good." He pulled away and I chose to stare off into the distance, particularly at something interesting that didn't exist.

"You've been awake for a while," he observed, investigating how my features held no signs of sleep. Fucking wonderful. Now he knew that I'd been creepily watching him the entire time. I didn't remove my eyes from the make-believe object on the wall.

"A while i-is kind of pushing it," I mumbled in an attempt to stave off my creepiness.

"Oh?" His snicker had a husky edge to it. "So I'm definitely exaggerating? Just a little bit, then?"

I grinned, relenting just so I could look at his eyes still drowsy from sleep. "You're getting there."

"Is a minute or two short enough for you? Or am I supposed to fake how awake you are?"

 _Craig Tucker and I are flirting in his bed~_  I wanted to do some stupid little dance along with my blissful little thought. What ended up happening was this extremely nerdy laugh. It was embarrassing. I tried to cover it with a cough and put cement overtop of that by saying, "Faking would be n-nice."

There was this twist to his lips that told me I'd done a horrible job of hiding the laugh. He didn't say anything about it, though. "Okay, then."

My gaze dropped. I was scared I'd give myself away if I continued to stare into his eyes. It was like my own wanted to tell him "I am obsessed with you," and I just couldn't allow that.

"Can I draw you?" Whenever he asked me that—always,  _always_  at random moments—my heart pulsated erratically. I liked that question so much that it made me nauseous.

"R-Right now?" Craig was a fiend at mastering the capture of emotions. He got me spot on every single time and it was a frightening thought to imagine he might just figure me out if I let him draw me right now. But how the hell was I supposed to decline him? Saying no to Craig was like Craig not being able to get rid of Julibob when the beagle first showed up. It was impossible.

"Yeah," he yawned, flopping onto his back. "Your eyes are kind of inspiring me and I don't want to lose it. You don't usually look so happy." Fuck. Shit. Fuck— _fuck_. This wasn't good. I was so screwed. I kept my eyes diverted and fought against the blush forming on my cheeks. There was this pause where neither of us said anything, and then Craig had to go and obliterate my decision that _godfuckno_ —I was  _not_  going to let him draw me like this. "I think your eyes are beautiful." My breath caught and he must've heard it because he continued with a sly smirk. "Irregularly beautiful. Nobody has eyes like you."

 _To Craig, I have something that nobody else does. I've got something on every person he's ever encountered. And eyes are important, right? They inspire him._  "Fine," I agreed, attempting to grumble so he wouldn't be able to tell how swooned I was. I made a quick getaway to the other side of the bed where I attempted to get out as smoothly as possible. It was kind of hard in a waterbed. To be honest, my nerves were buzzing and I felt light on my feet.

"I'm actually going to paint you." Craig got up much more gracefully and situated himself at his dresser where he began to pluck certain paints and brushes off the cluttered top. It was a daze I found myself in, ogling at what I could of him, my throat going dry. He was so tall, his body so lanky. His upper half straight and lean, bottom half slim with its slight curves. That butt of his was the cutest little thing. The entire expanse of his back and the redness at the top of his spine where I'd scratched him was ridiculously attractive to me.

Before I could school my expression, Craig turned around and caught me.

"Are you checking me out?"

There was absolutely nothing I could do but nod my head. I wasn't even in control of myself anymore. I'd completely shattered into millions of dead molecules and something else was controlling me. Something that I didn't even know existed.

His grin was just about the most darling expression I've ever seen. It was so cheeky that a dimple appeared, one of which I didn't even know he had. That indent alone rebuilt me, jolted me back into myself.

I needed my medication  _now_.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

_Anyone who says you can't see a thought simply doesn't know art._

—Wynetka Ann Reynolds

* * *

I didn't even let him put clothes on. Just took him out into the living room where I could open up certain windows to get a particular amount of natural light and position the two of them in a way that dimmed or created shadows, highlighted sections of his face like the apples of his cheeks, his crystalline irises, the hollow of his throat and the bridge of his collarbones. At some angles more than others pale strands of his messy hair would intensify, appearing almost golden. All of these things I had to take into consideration and I refused to settle for anything less than what I felt was right.

And I knew exactly when it would be right, but I had to keep maneuvering him around at minute intervals until it happened. With my fingers poised on his chin, I tilted and turned his head in slightly fractured movements. Just a single slant was enough to create an entirely new landscape of light. There was a moment in there where his eyes practically liquified and the light caught on a few of his irregular dusty blonde lashes. His skin rippled with a soft glitter and his previously wet lips shimmered enticingly, begging me to leave him right there because this was it. This was the light that I wanted him in.

The smile on my face was proud because Tweek was capable of being such an immaculate model. A pink explosion erupted on his cheeks, absorbing the light and brightening exuberantly. I told him to stay put, wary of taking my eyes off him, and walked around to my makeshift station. I've had this leftover canvas from a few projects back and decided that now would be as good a time as any to use it. Honestly, I think it was just as excited about this as I was; I could feel it in the first stroke of my brush against its surface.

And that one swipe was all it took to send me on a creative onslaught.

My fingers grew speckled with paint from numerous containers, tubes, and cups rather quickly. They were scattered around in an organized mess, neutral tones and a splash of red. Mixing colors was an intricate technique and the expression on my face grew determined as I took shades of white and turned them into skin. Yellow became hair and shadows evolved in their rightful places, some just beneath his eyes. This was concocting base shades and adding onto those colors with a splash of cream or peach or the softest gray.

This was realistic and it needed to be accurate. This rainbow of splotches where the only vibrant colors that existed were pink and green and they were quickly piling up on my palette that wasn't so much a palette as it was a slab or tray. I'd gotten a remarkable start and wouldn't find any ease in stopping.

As Tweek's expression came together and the glinting emotion in his eyes began to unfold, I was elated to realize that he was showing me something else. These eyes with their swooping shape that my hand could trace so easily were  _different_  from before. He was conveying a subdued happiness, this content relaxation. It tugged at me, asking so sweetly for me to promise to withdraw it from him and place it into this paint of mine.

For a second I caught myself staring, merely admiring, the entirety of Tweek's face. I could clearly see how fragile and innocent he was in that moment, but my intuition picked up on this crazy edge he had as well, and I mean  _literally_  crazy because that's what was inside of him. Something mental.

"What?" He asked, just as fragile and innocent and crazed as I'd depicted. "What is it?"

My brush slid across the roundness of his cheeks. I smirked at the light smear of pink now marring the canvas. "It's nothing," I told him, blending the perimeter of his blush into the pale color of his skin until the stain became natural.

We lapsed into a second silence after that. One where I occasionally wiped at my forehead to rid my face of ticklish hairs and smeared paint across my face as an end result. Tweek would giggle this tinkling sound beneath his breath and try to resist smiling so as not to ruin his portrait. The more I did this without thinking—a tickle was a tickle and I couldn't paint comfortably with one on my person—the more his eyes reflected a strong sense of fondness.

Yeah, I was cute. I knew. But this look of his I liked more than anything, and had to play around with his eyes a bit to replicate the exact formula of light harvesting inside of them. I hummed, pleased by my interpretation and positive that it was correct. My unconscious act had certainly charmed the endearment right out of him.

"Are gay guys always this easy to woo?" I teased, peeking around the canvas to watch him sputter. He couldn't seem to formulate a response. "I was just giving you a hard time."

He glared to show me that he didn't appreciate my jibe, effectively casting a new halo of light that engulfed him in a completely different way from how I'd set him up. Little shit was lucky I'd finished, otherwise I would've been pissed. "You're cute," he lied.

"You're cute too." I quirked my brows for emphasis. His jaw dropped a hair and his brow-line rose. I started laughing, and when he asked me what for, I replied, "Oh, nothing. You're just being cute again."

Tweek was unamused.

"No?" I continued just for the hell of it. "Okay, then."

* * *

That night, I don't think Tweek knew what to do with himself. He was conflicted between the couch and my bed. I actually thought it was kind of sweet how hard he tried to keep everyone up so they wouldn't disperse and ultimately leave him with a decision to make. Kenny was even, surprisingly, here for the night and definitely enjoyed the show Tweek was attempting to put on—and I mean really. He was switching the television to some channel and told everyone that they needed to watch whatever was on because it was  _so interesting_. It was one of those medical mystery episodes to which Clyde immediately got up and left.

"Clyde gets queasy easily," Pretty Lady explained, excusing herself in tandem. "I've got work tomorrow. Sorry, Juliblonde." Somehow she'd taken to calling him that. Earlier it'd just popped out while we were eating because he'd dined with the dogs rather than us. I guessed they were better company even though they humped each other after getting too excited while he fed them scraps.

I got up off the floor for the same reason. Tomorrow was an early morning day and it was already an hour past midnight. So I left to remove my clothes, listening with the door open so that I could eavesdrop. Out in the living room, Token apologized but said he had the day off and that they could do something together. Kenny asked if he was making the couch for one or two, this sickly sweetness corrupting his tone of voice. Tweek still hadn't given an answer by the time I returned and I found him worrying his lip while fidgeting with the buttons on the remote.

Deciding to make this easy for him, I leaned against the wall and suggested: "You're only here for a limited time so come sleep with me."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed, pushing Tweek clear off the couch. He stumbled as he rose. Kenny winked at me when his back was turned. "Get in as much quality time as you can. Who knows when we'll be back."

"Get in as much fucks as you can," Tweek spat in return.

We heard "Trust me, Tweekers, I am," as we headed to my room, followed by a round of boisterous laughter. It became a hollow sound once the door shut.

"He's disgusting." I flopped onto my back, rippling with the waves of my bed, and watched Tweek's face contort in disgust. "How many people do you think he's s-slept with?"

"In his lifetime or just since he came here?" His lips lifted at my joke and he began to unbutton the cardigan he was wearing. Poor guy didn't know that I'd be doodling him taking off his clothes now. "I'd say he's up in the double digits somewhere. Can't be too sure, you know? I haven't really been around to keep count."

Tweek's fingers stunted, pausing on one of the last buttons. The expanse of his chest that showed was shadowed, and in his immobility, I thought he'd make a beautiful statue. Or a photograph. A photograph of his still form would've been quite nice. "Let's just say that I'm in the minority of South Park's population of who all hasn't been fucked by Kenny."

Rising onto my elbows, I congratulated him on this achievement. If I remembered correctly, it was hard to be  _straight_  and have no sexual relations with Kenny. To be flamboyantly gay, a virgin,  _and_  untouched by him was an unimaginable honor. Especially at twenty years.  _Maybe_  I could see a few years—three at the most—of being able to say no, but by Tweek's age it was phenomenal. That's when I began to wonder if I wasn't the only one with dysfunctional junk. "I'm sure it's been hard keeping his penis away from you."

"Are you _kidding_  me?" He let the deeply colored article drop from his shoulders, although that was as far as it went. Precariously, he removed it from his arms and folded it before setting it gently on the floor. My lips twitched. "I have absolutely no interest in Kenny but he is  _persistent_. It's annoying and if I didn't care about my virginity so much I'd just let him have it so he can shut the hell up."

"Why's your virginity so important to you? I know it means something to most girls, but not so much with guys. It's a gay thing, isn't it?"

That's when his face erupted, changing colors so rapidly that it was nothing like his regular blush. This was a full-out cherry explosion. "There's no— _sweet jesus_ , there's no reason! I-I'm paranoid! Body fluids a-and shit, dude!" He quickly turned around to do something—I have no idea why he was wigging out so bad—and screamed when he nearly ran face-first into my dresser. He pivoted around on his heel again and looked rather guilty. "I-I lied—just then. That was a lie."

"It's okay." I almost couldn't keep the amused smirk off my mouth. Obviously it was something "special" he was waiting to lose his virginity to. Whatever "special" was supposed to be. I'd lost mine to Red. It hadn't worked out and ended up being a good laugh by the end of the night.

He stood there in the middle of my room for a while, shifting his weight and wringing his hands, beat up about lying to me I suppose. All he was wearing was the same pair of basketball shorts he'd had on all day and I didn't think he'd be stepping out of them. They looked comfortable enough to sleep in, so I invited him over. Hesitantly, he crawled onto my bed, imposing on its placidity and creating waves. We laid there on top of the covers for a while with the light still on. Neither of us were saying anything, but perhaps this was the quality time Kenny had been talking about.

Tweek eventually had to get up to do the things he did before bed: take his medication, brush his teeth, spit some mouthwash, drink some mouthwash—I even think he showered. He did all of this before coming back, and by then I was nearly passed out. After turning off the light, I made him roll me around to get the sheet out from under my body and was fully sated when he nestled me back into my pillows, wrapped me up, and made sure no feet were hanging out.

"Good night, Craig Tucker."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

_A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen._

—Edward de Bono

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I woke up and we were spooning. Our bodies—they  _meshed_. Craig was a godawfully good big spoon, damn it. Like, he was legitimate spoon material.  _My_  spoon material because he conformed so seamlessly to  _my_  little spoon body.

He'd been rustling around for a while in the midst of waking up I guessed. Because I slept light, his slight movements had brought me to consciousness, but it wasn't like I minded. I would've never known we'd spooned throughout the night had I been deep asleep.

Out of nowhere, his hand planted itself firmly against my hip. My body jolted, startled by the sudden pressure. His chest expanded rapidly with a rugged yawn, and as he exhaled, he stretched like a lion, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise before letting go just as quickly. Behind me, he relaxed, sighing heavily so that my hair ruffled. An arm wrapped around my torso as well as a leg across my waist. Trying not to snicker wasn't easy.

At first, Craig only grumbled at me to shut up, but it was impossible with him being so cute. He must've woken up a bit more because the next thing he did was nuzzle his nose against the back of my head and made to roll on top of me some more. I tried to fight him off, scared that I'd suffocate beneath him, but it was literally useless on a waterbed. We did nothing more than slosh around. I felt like we were walruses fighting for dominance or something equally blubbery and humiliating.

Craig ultimately ended up hauling me around until he was on his back, me on my back on top of him. His legs were tied at the ankle across my stomach.  _Now_  I couldn't stop laughing. "You are so  _weird,_ " I cried, clawing at his legs so that I may eventually scramble away. His fingers appeared at my sides where he started drumming them just beneath my ribcage. They were like little spider legs, completely terrifying because tickling wasn't _funny_. It could be used as a torture technique. The Chinese did it during the Han Dynasty. "Craig! No— _stop!_ "

Except it sounded like I was enjoying it and he didn't, but I couldn't blame him. He let go and I rolled off of him, though his fingers never strayed. They returned, tickling me further until I was gasping and beating his chest, arching and begging for him to stop because this was what the Chinese did and he didn't  _understand_. All he did was laugh sardonically, trap me against the bed, and tickle the fuck out of me. I couldn't do anything but belt out boisterous "HAHAHA"s.

And not once did I realize how close we were getting. I didn't catch the way Craig leaned over me; I never noticed how my hands weren't hitting him so much as they were clutching at him _._ The only thing I knew was that he was touching me and I liked that very much despite the tickling. At one point I was breathless, cheeks overused and cramping. That's when Craig's fingers stilled and his hand followed the curve of my back. My heartbeat pounded in my ears until it was the only thing that I knew. It was reflexive, automatic, when I arched away from his touch but  _toward_  him.

Our faces were nearly together and I loved seeing the icy flakes of blue in his eyes so clearly. His breath puffed against my mouth and I loved that too. I hadn't meant for it to happen, but my gaze lowered. The parted seam of his lips was enticing, their color pale almost like a dusty shade of rose. His cupid's bow was shapely, lower lip well defined. I'd kissed them before, and I wanted to again. He wouldn't do anything to stop me if I tried.

His mouth split into a grin. My eyes reverted to look up at him. We held silent eye contact before he finally said, "You're so easy." I was obviously confused by his observation. "Forget permission. I don't know why Kenny just hasn't  _taken_  you already, dude." Oh. He removed his arms from around me and sat up on his bed, shifting gently with the contained waves.

_That's because I react differently when it's you_ , I wanted to say to him. When Kenny advanced on me, I resisted even  _after_  he was finished trying to make a move. Had Kenny been the one tickling me, it wouldn't have been half as intimate as I'd felt it become.

"Don't g-give him any ideas," I warned, balancing on my elbows. There was this teeny-tiny fold in Craig's stomach as he hunched over and I thought it was adorable, so I tried not to be too suspicious as I took a few discreet glances at it.

Craig held up his hands in mock surrender. His arms were lean with slightly protruding muscle. It was safe to say I liked those too. "I've got your back, man." He winked at the back part.

My cheeks lit up. "When do you leave for work?"

"Soon." His answer was accompanied by a careless shrug. "I'll get there eventually."

"You're an ideal employee," I snorted, wrinkling my nose when he smacked my leg, offended.

He cocked his head to the side. His eyes were curious. "Do that again."

"Do what again?"

"Wrinkle your nose."

I did so, scrunching my eyes as well. "I can wiggle it, t-too."

The smile that appeared on his face went straight to my heart, pumping it full of blood in a way that led me to believe it was the healthiest beat I've ever had. As I wiggled my nose, this odd mixture of adoration and awe consumed his expression. I felt proud for putting it there and grinned cheekily at my accomplishment. "That was cute." There was a strange, soft note to his voice. "Stripe would always do that." And that explained why. "Can you do it to my nose?"

"Of course," I giggled, sitting up and forward. We leaned into each other where, for the quickest second, I imagined we were going to kiss and touched nose tips. He closed his eyes as I twitched mine against his. When I made to pull away, he cupped either side of my face and requested for me to do it one more time. His hands stayed there while I did as he asked, fingers delicate as they held me. It wasn't me he was with, though. Not at this moment. He might've been away inside of a memory, or just remembering in general. Stripe and I had traded places.

This time he let me pull away, although I didn't stray far. I wanted to remain as close to him as I could. Craig blinked a few times and I was unabashedly shocked that there was _liquid_ brimming in his eyes. They were glossy, their frozen color like ice just after water's been poured over the cubes. He was wearing a quirky little grin and didn't look at all like he was sad. It occurred to me that I'd just given him something. I'd given him a piece of Stripe and that was something that  _nobody_  else could do because I'd done it  _first_. This unconquerable joy was deposited right inside my stomach and I wrapped my skinny arms around Craig's shoulders without even thinking about what it was I was doing.

With my forehead resting against his collarbone, I mumbled, "Stop being so goddamn cute." It wasn't likely I'd be able to bare it if he continued to come up with ways to show me how much of a sweetheart he could be. I already liked him so much and this certainly wasn't helping my case. I started laughing just to pity myself, because honestly, I was so fucking screwed.

"It sneaks up on me sometimes, dude." Craig laid his head against mine and huffed despondently. "Maybe I won't go to work today."

At the shake of my head, his did the same. "Go to work," I said, secretly enjoying the warmth of his skin.

"Why?" He grunted, displeased by the idea.

"Because you're a man." I pulled away to look at him. He'd blinked away what he could of his tears. The ones clumping his lashes together could stay for as long as they liked, though. "And you have things you need to look after. Like your apartment, and your car, and school, and you need to eat, the dogs need to eat—"

"Okay, okay." He bonked our foreheads together before backing away completely, all the way off the bed and over to his dresser. "I've got priorities, I get it."

As he began to pick through his clothes, I watched from my perch at the edge of his bed with interest. The first thing he did was pull out a new pair of boxer-briefs. After that, he began to sift through articles until he found a pair of black, straight-legged jeans and a white t-shirt. I looked away as he changed even if he didn't care because I've heard wonderful things about his penis and didn't want to dig myself in any deeper than I had to. When I did eventually return my attention to him, he was wearing what he'd picked out as well as a leather jacket and a pair of laced boots. His short shirt sleeves were rolled at the hems beneath the extra layer. It was a very sleek yet rugged look.

Not showering added to his appearance by giving his hair that little bit of grease that wasn't at all unattractive. It was a  _tidy_  grease, something that kept his locks tamed and his style kept. He asked me how he did, even gave me a twirl, to which I gave him a thumbs up. It was either that or a "You're so fucking sexy I could jump your bones right here right now. Let's do it." The latter definitely wasn't happening so my agreeable thumbs would just have to suffice for now. Not that I was going to call him sexy and jump him  _later_  or anything.

A knock on the door saved him from indulging in my positive response any longer. "Pretty Lady and I carpool," he explained, opening up the door to reveal exactly as he'd said. Clyde's girlfriend was there, peeking in at me with a smile comparable to Kenny's. I tried to ignore her so as not to allude to the fact that she was trying to silently congratulate me on another accomplished night of sleeping with Craig.

"Morning, Tweek," she cooed. To Craig she said, "We should leave. I need to stop and get gas."

He turned to speak with me before leaving. "So I guess go ahead and go back to bed or disinfect my room or whatever you feel like doing while I'm gone. We'll be back sometime around five, alright?"

I nodded my head. "Can you turn the light off?"

After flicking the switch, he shut the door. I fell back into his bed, grabbed his sheets, and rolled around until I was completely encompassed by them and his smell. The smile on my face was impossible to get rid of.

* * *

Later in the day I managed to make it out of Craig's room. I'd fallen asleep surprisingly—I usually don't get that far once I'm already awake—and found Token watching TV on the couch. He was feeding the dogs from a can, eyes focused on the screen, specifically the home improvement channel. My dad loved the home improvement channel. Julibee and Julibob were so into their treat that they didn't even welcome me into the living room. Token smiled at my arrival and encouraged me to grab a drink and something the eat.

Julibob was hospitable enough to lick the back of my hand once I'd settled on a glass of milk and took a seat beside Token. "How long have you been up?"

"I'm up when everyone leaves." Before I could say I was sorry, he said, "I'm used to hanging out with the dogs by myself on Tuesdays. Don't worry about it."

Idly, I checked the time on my phone. It was  _noon_. How the hell had I slept for so long? There was a text message from Thomas asking if I'd lost my virginity yet. I quickly got rid of it just in case someone decided to look through my phone or peer over my shoulder or just in case I accidentally forwarded it—for all probable reasons, I deleted the damn thing. "Where's Kenny?"

"Probably on a date. Maybe he hired an escort." That last one hadn't been a joke.

Token got up from the couch, apologizing to the beagles who weren't ready for the can to be empty, and threw it away along with the plastic spoon he'd used to feed them with.

"He ran out of Lakewooders already?" I snickered.

"That's a Guinness World Record right there," Token agreed. He stopped at the mouth of the hallway. "Hey, do you want to play a board game or something? Craig and Clyde like to cheat so I don't play many very often."

That sounded like a relatively accurate accusation. "Sure. What do you have?"

"Monopoly. That's it."

There wasn't much I could say besides "Okay."

"Awesome. You don't cheat, do you?" Token asked, opening a closet in the hallway. As I reassured him that I didn't, he pulled out a rectangular box and brought it over to the couch. "You know how to play, right?" I nodded my head, helping him sort out the multi-colored money including the houses, cards, and player pieces.

This game definitely wasn't my forte, but I did have the patience for it although I've never won. The thimble was always my player, I usually ended up in jail for most of the game, I've never gotten the jackpot of money in the middle, I only ever landed on bought land, the bank usually hated me, buying houses made me anxious, and I had a thing for the railroads. I'd say Token was about to play the game of a lifetime.

Things always started out simply. That was my favorite part of Monopoly: the very beginning. It usually got complicated after that with all of the decision making and rent payments. And after that, the game was just hectic. Monopoly was the reason why the real world—jobs, buying houses, paying bills, banks in general—scared the shit out of me. For the longest time growing up, I'd honestly thought that life was a game of Monopoly. Even though I knew it wasn't true, I still compared it to the real thing and found many disturbing similarities.

That's when I found myself in jail. "Damn it," I swore, interrupting the comfortable silence Token and I had built up around us. I'd warned him about my thimble's attraction to jail and now he was smiling.

"Must be all of that soap business that goes on in there." My jaw dropped. That had been the dirtiest gay joke I have ever received to date. Not just sexual dirty—but _raunchy_  dirty. "I'm so sorry, dude. That literally came out of nowhere."

"I don't know what to say," I admitted, laughing into my palm. "That was a good one, though."

"Thanks." He covered his face with a hand and shook his head, lapsing us into another silence. By the time he spoke up again, I figured he'd been thinking about it for a while and that was why he'd been so quiet. "So you and Craig, huh?"

My hand jerked and the dice went rolling, my thimble escaped prison, my money tried to get away from me, Token leaned away from the explosion, and all I could ask was: "What?"

He started picking up a fraction of the small mess that had reached his side while I diligently organized mine. "It's obvious you've liked him since you hit puberty, dude."

"Really?" I squeaked, unaware that I'd been so noticeable. How many other people have known this entire time? Because I was under the impression that it was just my close friends. "D-Does Craig know?"

Token shook his head. "No." I closed my eyes and breathed easy. "He may be a huge ogre like his dad, he'll figure it out eventually, though."

_Shit._


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

_Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things._

—DEGAS

* * *

The woman and I were on our way home from work—me from the salon, her from the pet store in the same shopping complex—when we decided to stop and bring home dinner from some barbecue grill that we rarely ever ate at, but tonight was a ribs and wings night our stomachs had decided. We weren't sure if Kenny would even be there, and I was a little iffy on what to get Tweek since I still wasn't sure if he was a vegetarian or not, but I ended up settling for potato salad and onion strings.

To be honest, I felt like I was ordering for a five year old.

As we were waiting in the oddly placed drive-through for our food, I commented on how it was remarkable that every establishment had some type of order-and-go service these days. She ignored me entirely and asked, "How's Tweek been? Sleeping and whatnot, I mean."

"He's fine." I'd had to reassure her and Token the next day I don't know how many times that he wasn't going to shrivel up and die. Clyde had been oblivious and hadn't understood why they were making such a big deal out of it. "I think having someone there helps him a lot."

"That's good. No more nightmares?" As far as I knew, no. So I shook my head. The window opened and we were handed our drinks. I wasn't sure if he'd take it, but I'd gotten Tweek a soda. Sprite to be specific, because he kind of reminded me of one. A sprite—the fairy kind. That wasn't a gay joke, either. "Do you guys get all cuddly?"

"Pretty much," I answered, trying to organize all of the drinks in a way that wouldn't create an unfortunate mess when the car started moving.

She was grinning something monstrous. It was weird. "And how's that working out for you?"

My shoulders shrugged carelessly. "He's small and compact so he's kind of like a body pillow."

"Yeah," she agreed wistfully. "I like sleeping with Clyde, too."

I wasn't sure if she was trying to compare Tweek and me to her and Clyde, or if she'd just said that to let me know. Whatever it was, I let it go because it really didn't matter to me.

As the window slid open a second time, I collected our food. We were given two heaping bagfuls of barbecue and hot sauce. That was literally what it smelled like. The car would be stinking for a while. With food and drink situated, we started home, though it seemed the conversation wasn't over.

"What are you going to do when he goes home?" Pretty Lady inquired. I hadn't really thought that far ahead.

"Sleep like I normally do?" I guessed. I didn't really have an option.

"When do they leave?" Her tone of voice made it sound like she didn't want them to go. When I glanced over at her, I saw that she was hunkered down in her seat dejectedly.

"I'm sure it'll be soon. They've been here since Friday." Friday evening, but still Friday. Four days was a rather long time to be away from work and school, more so for Kenny than either of them. Tweek would be fine; he worked for his parents.

Pretty Lady asked me another question, something she seemed to be full of tonight. "Are you going to miss him?"

This time I couldn't shrug away my response. "A little, probably. I don't want to screw myself over again just because he's not here." But I got used to drawing him, and I liked to draw him, and he ended up being the only thing I wanted to draw, so when I couldn't anymore, it was like my talent became useless.

"He misses you, too."

"Of course he does. Everyone misses Craig Tucker." She shot me a look that said she was being serious. "Okay," I relented. "He misses me, too."

Happy with that, she then asked me, "Have you kissed at all since I bribed him into doing it the other day?"

Now I  _knew_  she was trying to get at something. "Nope." She was disappointed in this, and I was suspicious.

For a minute she fumbled with one of the bags in her lap. "Do you think you might?"

"I really haven't thought about it." My eyes narrowed as I turned into our apartment complex.

"Oh. Okay." She said nothing more as I parked the car, got out, and was equally silent all the way up the stairs. It was at the door where we shared matching amounts of dinner and beverage that, as we attempted to kick the door down, she suggested, "Maybe you should."

The door opened. It was Kenny.

"You're lucky we got extra," I told him.

He smiled and ushered us into our own living room. "I'm lucky I decided to stop by then. That smells delicious."

"So you're leaving again?" I snorted, not in need of an answer and he knew that. Pushing past him, I made my way toward the kitchen table and set a bag along with a couple of drinks down. I turned around and saw Tweek and Clyde standing in front of the TV.

From experience I knew they were playing with the Xbox. We had a few Kinect games. Clyde must've been showing Tweek how it was done.

Token met my eye and motioned me over. He was standing by the hallway, arms crossed, watching amusedly at our friend and the blonde. Turns out they weren't even playing any of the games, just messing around with the animated players because they followed your movements. This was new to Tweek, obviously.

His arms were flapping and he couldn't stop laughing, exclaiming—ridiculously enthused—that his character was doing everything that he did. Clyde chose that moment to begin hip thrusting, something that Tweek found funny at first, and then the hip thrusts started moving toward him. Each one brought the brunette closer to Tweek and his player on the screen. At the same time he was trying to shy away, the blonde also wanted to keep his spot in front of the Kinect box so he wouldn't lose control of his character.

"They've been doing this for past two hours, I swear. Tweek was getting high scores until he realized that he could do this." Token gestured toward the screen, and laughed when Clyde's hip thrusts became particularly exaggerated. Tweek was just taking it, his player more important than his dignity. "I don't even think he's noticed Kenny, yet. Nobody else is allowed to play."

That, I could actually believe. If he was willing to be dry humped relentlessly by Clyde, then nothing was getting past him.

At the table, Kenny had cracked open a container of hot wings and the smell was permeating throughout the room, effectively tempting me.

"Alright, you guys," I announced. For being wrapped around the Xbox all day, Tweek gave me his attention easily enough. "Dinner's on the table." That's all it took for Clyde to disperse, pelvic thrusts forgotten far behind the promise of food. The blonde wasn't as easily swayed. He stared after Clyde as though he'd been betrayed.

"He hasn't eaten all day," Token quietly informed. "The game's kept him busy, so he's probably exhausted."

Tweek did appear rather tired: cheeks flushed, hair pushed from his face, breath heavy. I nodded once and Token passed before me to head over to the kitchen table. Pretty Lady was portioning everything out on plates and handing out designated drinks.

With my hands in my pockets, I wandered on over to Tweek. He looked up at me like he wanted to tell me my best friend was a traitor. There was a pout on his lips giving them a fuller effect. Their shapely curve was emphasized and that damn woman's words, the ones about kisses and Tweek, were nagging at me. "Come on," I encouraged. "I got you some potato salad and onion strings because I wasn't sure if you were a vegetarian or not."

"Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised, or maybe he was pleased, as he stepped away from the television. "I am a vegetarian."

I felt accomplished.

The majority of dinner was uneventful. Kenny hogged all of the hot wings, Tweek picked at his food, the dogs tag teamed Clyde for his ribs, nothing was on TV—I was half tempted to break out the vodka. Tweek chose that opportune moment to share some news with us, and that's when things got interesting.

"Token got a c-call from a girl today," he blurted out. It was utterly irrelevant but unanimously appreciated. None of us had known Token was talking to a _lady_.

" _Impossible!_ " Clyde screeched. The julibeagles howled at his cry.

My best friend felt the immediate need to explain himself. "She's a friend and we're doing a project together. Don't get too excited, guys."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell us?"

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Calm down, guys." He took a bite of his meal to show us just how calm we should be. "Her name's Bailey. Nothing's going on so I didn't think telling you guys was important, alright?"

Clyde and I made eye contact. " _Bailey?_ " We spat in unison.

"She doesn't sound black," I added, not liking that one bit. Token needed cute little chocolate children.

"She's not," Token said. "And we're just partners doing a project, so there's nothing to worry about."

My mouth twitched in the hint of a snarl.

"Do you have a picture?" Clyde mumbled, leaning closer to our friend as though I wouldn't hear. I glared at him. He saw my vehemence and whimpered, "What if she's hot?"

It wasn't often that I raised my voice, but this was critical. Token wasn't allowed any leeway when it came to women. "I don't care if she's hot. If she's not black it's not happening in this house."

He froze for a moment along with everyone else. The dogs even quieted down before fighting over a rib bone not a second later. Clyde leaned back over to Token. "Picture?"

Token rolled his eyes. "Look her up on Facebook. We're friends."

The brunette's phone was out immediately.

"I thought you said you were only partners," I hissed.

"Oh, come on!" He was exasperated.

I grinned just to let him know I was kidding. To Clyde I asked, "What's the verdict?" When he didn't answer, I glanced at him. His mouth was open on the verge of speaking, his eyes on the screen of his phone contemplatively. He shut it and rubbed a hand across his mouth in defeat.

"She's hot," was all he said. Pretty Lady fished an ice cube out of her cup and threw it at him. "Do you want to see?" He asked me, ignoring his girlfriend.

Before I could decline, Token said, "She'll be over tomorrow. You can see her then."

This time, I really did snarl.

And that was dinner.

The hot wings were gone, a good fraction of Tweek's food was still on his plate, Pretty Lady was fighting the dogs for their bones, the TV was off—and I still wanted to get drunk.

I'd draw Tweek instead, though, because there was this shadow across half of his face. It concealed half of his hair and one of his eyes and a portion of his skin and a part of him was so much darker than the other, and in seeing this, I got an idea. I liked this idea.

When the inspiration literally peeled back a layer of my vision and I was able to see the formulation of shadows cast around his figure, I told him that he needed to be my model again. Tweek insisted that he clean up and even offered to do my plate for me. He wouldn't let me draw him until I did, and I was grumpy until we were finally in my room with him seated on the bed because he thought this was going to be like every other time.

My back was to him and I was picking through different sticks of charcoal on my dresser in indecision of which ones I wanted to use. As I ran my fingers over them, it was the kind that radiated energy and purpose that I chose. Satisfied, I picked them up between my fingers, turned around, and flicked my wrist at Tweek.

"Take your shirt off," I told him. It was such a straightforward, dead honest command that he did it. He stood right up and lifted his shirt over his head. "Stand over there." I pointed toward an area that was spacious. He went there, leaving his shirt on the edge of my bed. "Stay there." I left my room and got a light fixture from the closet in the hallway. It was composed of numerous bulbs inside dark orbs with hollow tops attached to wire hoses that I could manipulate to point in any direction. Once it was plugged in, I removed a few of the bulbs, turned it on and my light off, then positioned it across from Tweek.

"What are you doing?" He asked, watching curiously as I came over and turned him toward the wall. I'd be drawing his back, his body, but I needed to get the light and shadows just right first. Without answering, I went back and forth multiple times between him and the light, rearranging the two in minute fractions as I did. I came across a placement somewhere in all of that where my two subjects coupled each other. Like out in the living room, about half of the blonde was cast in shadows.

It was his bones that did it for me. Every subtle dip in his spinal cord was doused in darkness, making his spine this prominent expanse of bone resembling a single line of ripples. Reaching out, I meant to touch the breaching squiggle of darkness, utterly captivated by the contrast, and actually startled myself right into a state of disappointment when my hand blocked the light and disrupted the simplicity of shadows, bone, and skin.

I snatched my fingers back; the delicate shapes and curves returned.

"Can you lower your jeans?" I asked.

His torso was already long, feline in a way, and I wanted to accentuate it by revealing more skin.

Tweek inhaled, causing his spine to stretch and grow. Deeper shadows latched onto his protruding bones, even some of his ribs. He didn't question me, just grabbed a few of his belt loops, and shimmied the waistline of his jeans down.

The dip in his back collected a pool of shadows. I took a few steps and came to stand in front of him. Tweek was holding his arms across his chest as—in the midst of altering him and the light—I'd instructed him to do. He took a quick glance at me from beneath his long lashes as I let him know that I was about touch him because that was my thing, feeling what I wanted to draw.

To keep from blocking the light, I stood close and used only one hand. It curled around his side flanked by darkness. The pace of his breath picked up when I laid my hand against the small of his back. Shadows washed over my fingers or receded depending on where I moved them. I played with the smooth blanket of shades and silhouettes, my attention rapt with interest. The blonde attempted to control the beat of his breath and I could tell how hard he was trying by how timed and too steady, too long they were.

With a slow, featherlight touch, I traced my fingers up the uneven course of his spine, fingertips sliding with the curve of shadow. I was fascinated by it.

He stood taller the higher my touch went, stretching and elongating the path I was taking. Perhaps I'd hunched over to correspond with his slight growth spurt because our cheeks brushed where they wouldn't have before.

It kind of just happened on its own when I turned my face toward his, and I hadn't mean to, but I wet my lips. At the same time, Tweek hesitantly inclined his chin, inched his own face in my direction, and I thought it was funny because I was going to kiss him and this was exactly what Clyde's girlfriend had wanted.

My lips were prickling even before it happened just as his breath puffed warm and slow against them.

Our mouths brushed softly, inducing this ticklish sensation. I splayed my fingers against his back, encompassed his hip with my other hand. One of Tweek's twisted with the locks at the nape of my neck, another cradling the column of my throat, fingertips pressed into my skin, luring me to him.

His bottom lip slid between my own and I suctioned to it, capturing its fullness and giving it a delicate suck. He inhaled deeply, pressing firmly into the kiss with a needy fervor that my body instantly responded to. I tugged him closer, moulded my mouth to his, and was invigorated by the readiness of his lips. There was a cohesion about his kiss and my kiss and, quite obviously, we were both going to the same place with it.

When I broke away, Tweek was quick to follow, an arm draped across my shoulders. He reconnected our mouths, pulled me toward him, parted his lips and tilted his head until we were seamless. My fingers tightened around his waist as our lips moved and meshed together. I took a step closer and our chests met. Biting down on his flesh momentarily caused the blonde's nails to dig into my shirt except I wanted them in my skin.  _Damn it._ Thinking about it without actually  _feeling_  it made me crave the scratch of his nails.

They were well kept, I knew, and I wanted to draw them. I wanted to draw his fingers and his willowy arms and I wanted to see his lips bruised and swollen. His eyes dark, glazed over, red in the cheeks, unable to catch his breath. That would be the way I'd see him and illustrate him and I was excited to put him in that unruly position.

We maneuvered around until his back was to the wall. I pulled back and held him there, listening to him pant while he clung to me, fingers clenching my hair. My stomach tightened at the situation I'd gotten myself into. I mean, I was essentially kissing my muse. It was kind of a turn on.

Noses brushing, I nuzzled our lips together, teasing him. Every time he leaned into me, I reclined, toying with him until he snapped. The blonde roughly tugged me toward him to accommodate for this game I was playing. It was in unison as our mouths parted, tongues seeking to achieve the wet feel of the other, rolling in tandem. The action was slick and warm, this simple thing that just felt plain  _good_.

Tweek leaned into me, so far up on his toes that he would've lost his balance had he not be sandwiched between my body and the wall. Hands slipping across the small of his back, I lapped at his lips and delved my tongue into his mouth. He began having to pull away to breathe, though it never stopped him from placing short kisses wherever he pleased. It turned into a repetitive action and I lost my whereabouts in the hypnotizing lull. The blonde was getting disoriented in his own act, clinging to me tighter, tugging at me harder, making these softly whispered noises beneath his breath. They caught in my ears and it was all I could hear.

My hands slid along the length of his sides, skin shivering beneath my fingers. His chest heaved and a particularly quick inhale separated our lips. A smirk caught the corners of my mouth as I drew a steady trail up to his collar with my hands where I cupped either side of his face and peppered his jaw with openmouthed kisses. He was radiating warmth—energy and purpose.

I'd dropped my charcoal.

I took a hurried glance over my shoulder to make sure they were okay and found them laying on my floor. There were no broken bits so I hadn't stepped on them.

When I turned back around, Tweek was staring up at me and his eyes were bottomless pits. The darkness of my room and the plague of the mood that had just transpired between us had dilated his pupils until the green of his irises were nearly gone, eaten away by an obsidian color so similar to that damn canvas from my nightmare, the black one that ate all of my favorite things.

"You look like a demon," was the first thing out of my mouth. Considering the circumstance, I'd go ahead and admit he was a pretty sexy demon.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

_And yet, the only exciting life is the imaginary one._

_—Virginia Woolf_

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Clyde's girlfriend was an apprentice mastermind. She'd been creating this theory since our first meeting and decided to reveal it to me, although she'd had to get me out of the apartment—or at least away from Craig—before doing so, and to do that, she'd peeked into his room early in the morning to invite me to the store. I wasn't sure if forcing me to tag along was just convenient for her since she honestly had to pick up a few things or if taking me grocery shopping was a just jab at my sexuality. It was interesting nonetheless, this bizarre, idiotic idea she's been harboring over. But of course I didn't know this at first.

* * *

"What are we getting at the store?" I asked, scrutinizing her hold on the steering wheel as well as the speedometer. I never used to be so lenient when it came to who I got in a car with. Kenny had gone through lengths just to get me to  _sit_  in his truck when he'd first gotten it and even then I'd waited until he'd had a year of driving under his belt. Those poor twelve months were crammed together with his other notches: the virginities he's taken and the fucks he's participated in.

Noticing my worrisome speculation, Pretty Lady waited until we stopped at a red light to retrieve the list from her pocket. As I read it over, I saw regular things like: apples, hot pockets, and tylenol. All of these I assumed were in her handwriting, because beneath her list was another one in what I knew to be Craig's and what I guessed was Clyde's. They were things like: douche, laxatives, balloons, and alcohol—you know the kind I like bitch. I smiled at the list and then at her and her mock-grumpy expression

"I think your boyfriend's trying to tell you something," I teased, referring to the requested douche.

"Yeah," she agreed. "That he's actually a woman."

That hadn't been quite what I was going for but it was still funny. "Do they usually do this? Write down stupid things for you to get?"

She nodded strongly. "Oh, yeah. All the time. Token's the only one mature enough not to partake."

The two best friends' behavior was endearing to me. "What else do they do?"

"Everything." The brunette girl rolled her eyes, turning the corner onto a populated street. "They barge in while I'm showering to shave. They dickslap me when they're wasted. They lock me out and moon me from the window. Both of them are just terrible roommates. You're so lucky that you still live with your parents."

My smile cracked because that wasn't true at all. "You're lucky you're independent." Helpless, unsure, and feeble wasn't a productive way of living.

Pouting, she said, "Craig's room is open if you want to move in."

I tried to smile again to take the edge off my sour mood except it didn't really work. She had no idea how effective that would be if she were literally offering a spot in their home. Being away from South Park, away from my parents who cared too much that it was suffocating, spending time with Craig, and experiencing something outside of the only thing that I was used to—security, reliability, my parents making all of my decisions for me—it was good.

These visits would teach me something and I would learn from them and when I told this to my psychiatrist, Dr. Norris, I wanted him to say to me  _yes, yes you are right, Tweek_ because I've never been right about anything outside of grades for school and coffee taste tests. This was a decision that  _I_  had made and I wanted it to be time for me to grow up.

"You know he's obsessed with you, right?" Pretty Lady asked as she entered the parking lot of the local grocery store. It was relatively busy, a few cars moseying down full isles in search for a spot.

There was a flutter in my chest as though my heart had been replaced by birds, and insects, and flying squirrels. "No he's not," I objected.

Her smile was knowing. "There was a time where all he drew was his guinea pig."  _Stripe._  But that I could understand. He'd loved Stripe more than anything. "He's a very simple person. I think he likes having you around because now all he has to do is draw you."

"Do you think that may be why I like him?" I wondered. "Because he doesn't hide anything and there's not much to him?" We were opposites, him and I. Craig Tucker was Craig Tucker while Tweek Tweak was a labyrinth of sharp turns, dead ends, and no finish. There was too much of me; I had excess amounts of everything a person could ever have. The only thing I had a shortage of was sanity.

"No." Her voice was soft as she contradicted me. She parked the car and removed the keys but we had yet to get out. "You like him because sometimes that's the way things happen."

"Is that what you told yourself when Clyde screwed with  _your_  head?" Because screwing around was the only way I could describe what was happening to me. There was no place in my mind where Craig didn't live.

A lilting hum thinned out the silence before her answer. "Clyde and I are different from you and Craig. We didn't have to discover the things we already knew. It was an easy process for us."

"Why—" She got out of the car and I wondered if it was a sign that I should keep my mouth shut, but I was curious.

So after I'd followed her and we were on our way into the store, I asked, "Why are you talking about him like he likes me? You're making it sound like we're meant to be together or something."  _It's getting my hopes up and you need to stop it._

"Aren't you?" Grabbing a cart, she started in the direction of the produce. I followed quickly after her, lost in the spacious entrance of this store I've never explored.

"Sometimes I think that I'm supposed to be with him," I admitted. She nodded her head as though she understood, or maybe because she believed me. "B-But that  _he's_  not supposed to be with  _me._  Does that make sense?"

Pretty Lady nodded again. "That makes sense, but it's not true." My brows knit together. It wasn't fair that she was speaking about this like she knew how everything would play out. "How long have you liked him?"

I sighed before muttering, "About eight years."

She stopped at a mountain of apples and began picking the largest ones. "Craig's just the same way except he's still trying to figure it out. He's introverted like that. You know he's always known who you were. Back in South Park, I mean. So you're not some crush who just wants to be acknowledged." Placing her chosen apples in a bag and then the basket, she filtered through the oranges next. "It's always been in his head whether he knew it or not, his fondness towards you. But Craig's a very self-satisfying person. To him, he comes first before anyone else. He's satisfied the fuck out of himself, though."

As I listened to her explain Craig in ways I never thought of him, she pointed at her list, hinting that I should find a good package of grapes. Doing this, I asked her what she'd meant and kept one ear toward her at all times and made sure to catch everything she said. "What I mean is that now that he's got himself all figured out, there's enough room for his little inkling about you to grow."

None of this was acceptable. The way she just put everything made me—God, I felt  _optimistic_. My cheeks burned, my heart thundered, I was light on my feet, this fruit looked delicious, and there was a giddiness in my stomach. "Y-You think?"

"Yep!" She sounded excited, plucking the grapes from my hands with an offhand comment that I'd picked well. "I've been living with this apathetic prick for two years. I know when he's interested, trust me. And his interest is  _all_  over you."

Even if it didn't make the most sense, I liked what she had to say. That's what led me to my confession. "He kissed me."

And for her to disregard me by saying, "Oh, I know. I was there."

My lips turned up. "Not every time," I murmured, hoping she'd catch my quiet tone.

The cart and her stopped halfway to the bread. "Not _every_  time?" She repeated, looking back at me. I nodded my head. "How many have I missed?"

"J-Just a few." It wasn't that she was surprised by my confession. I think it was more along the lines of how she hadn't expected it to—I guess for it happen so  _soon_.

The smile that lit up her face was near blinding. "Just as I suspected! I knew he wouldn't have been able to hold out for so long." She started toward the bread again and just as before, I followed like her shadow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, watching as she inspected the bread for the warmest loaf.

"Oh, nothing," she tutted, placing one in her basket. Bringing the cart around, she began pushing it toward the dairy. I'd seen milk and orange juice on her list earlier.

"No, wait," I objected. "You c-can't just  _not_  tell me."

All she did was point toward the see-through doors and said, "Pick some. Whichever you want. I'm trying to get Clyde to lose some weight, so get something preferably healthy."

At a loss with nothing else to do, I grabbed a carton of soy milk and another of one percent. When she came back, I put my foot in front of one of the wheels of the cart so she couldn't push away. "Tell me what you meant."

Her grin was devious. "I told you it was nothing. Craig's just proving my Tweek and Craig Theory."

I blanched, allowing her to swerve around my shoe. Her Tweek and Craig  _Theory?_  "What the hell is that?" I cried, chasing after her as she sped up to a brisk walk.

"It's just this thing that I've had going for a while. An idea of sorts." She grabbed a few tapioca pudding cups and put them in the basket. "I've been watching how Craig reacts to you when you're here and when you're gone. He's obsessed with you no matter where you are, I swear." Down another isle she grabbed some granola bars with vanilla and strawberry yogurt lining their bottoms. "If you ever get the chance, look at his sketchbooks. You're the only thing that's in them."  _I—I am?_  "Your eyes and lips in particular. So him kissing you was expected if you know what I mean."

No, I didn't know what she meant because I couldn't seem to climb over the fact that Craig liked to draw my eyes and lips. There was no preparation I could've forgone to better comprehend what this meant.

Did he find those attributes of mine attractive? Were they his favorite things about me? He thought about them, that much was clear. He remembered my lips and drew them  _because_  he liked them. How many times had he looked at my eyes and known that he'd draw them exactly like that later? What compelled him to look at these things and deem them likable? What was it about them that attracted his attention? Because they weren't supposed to be anything special. Not to him at least.

These sketchbooks, though. I wanted to see them.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

_Art hath an enemy called ignorance._

—Ben Jonson

* * *

"Tweek's a fucking health nut, dude." Clyde, Token, and I were inspecting our new refrigerator.

The brunette's comment was the epitome of correct.

His girlfriend had decided to take Tweek shopping this morning—seriously as though she just  _knew_  that we'd kissed and had to be the first to get it out of him—bitch even beat  _Kenny_ to it—and they'd come home only for them to do  _this_.

No soda, no beer, Clyde's package of bite sized Three Musketeers was missing.

The entire cavity of the machine was a pristine white color as spotless as porcelain. There was soy milk next to the one percent milk; mushrooms, an assortment of peppers, asparagus, fruit to match the vegetables, and a  _coconut_. (I stared at that thing trying to think of all the possible reasons why we needed it and couldn't think of one.) Our bottled salad dressing had been replaced with fresh, homemade ranch and some weird vinegar shit. Something called hummus was hanging out with the pudding of which we had in one flavor: tapioca.

We didn't even want to check the pantry and I was scared to look in the freezer for fear the vodka wouldn't be present. All of this, the shopping and the reorganization as well as some cooking and concocting, had all been done while we were sleeping. Or at least  _Clyde_  and I had been asleep. Token swore he'd tried to stop them and clearly failed. He'd went ahead and let the ladies destroy our man cave.

"So where's the beer?" Clyde asked. There hadn't been many cans left and they could've easily been thrown away but he'd bought the last pack and didn't want to have wasted money.

"Your girlfriend doesn't drink it and neither does Tweek. I guess they don't know that beer tastes like piss when it's warm. It's in the closet," Token informed.

Frowning, Clyde stomped over the closet, retrieved the beer, and thrust it back into the refrigerator. The coconut rolled all the way to the back. "Looking better already." He put his hand on the door and stroked the surface. "I'm sorry Token let them touch you, baby. At least you got a bath."

I smacked his butt. "Spoken like a true man. You sweet talk that whore." He grinned at me from over his shoulder. "So did Tweek move in or something? What's the occasion?"

Token shrugged his shoulders, moving to sit at the table. "I think it was more of a bonding thing."  _Or a gossiping thing._  "Pretty Lady's kind of been harping on Tweek's vegetarianism. We all might be forced to convert."

"You sure know how to pick 'em," I chastised, referring to Clyde's woman.

"Hey!" He cried. "You love her."

She and Tweek decided to pop up at that moment. They came in from outside, the dogs racing around their feet. Tweek took one look at me and gawked, cheeks gone suddenly rosy. Clyde's girlfriend threw her arm around his shoulders and pointed toward the refrigerator with an air of haughtiness. "You like?"

"No," Clyde and I growled.

"We like the beer cold," he informed, a warning in his tone.

"And" —I took a look at the contents to find something I could add— "the hummus is irregular. What the fuck is that?"

It got Tweek to crack a grin. "You eat it with pita chips. It's not a favorite of mine, but Thomas likes it, so I thought I'd have—uhm—" he glanced at the lady "—P-Pretty Lady try it." That would be the first time he's called her that. By the approval on her face, I'd go ahead and say Token was right: she was going to convert us into vegetarians. "She liked it s-so she got some. Uh." His smile was wide and very forced yet it managed to look nice all the same.

Clyde was thoroughly displeased. "You turned my girlfriend against us." Tweek opened his mouth to explain further or apologize or probably anything really. The problem was that Clyde wasn't finished yet. "Dude, I handed over my best friend and his _bed_. You're in debt to us and you stole my girlfriend. That's like slut status right there."

The brunette's exaggerated response was funny up until Tweek heard the word "slut" and his expression completely blanked.

And then the mortification, disgust, anger, and hurt set in.

"I did  _not_  mean that literally, Tweek. I was seriously just fucking with you," Clyde said quickly.

Tweek nodded his head, but he wasn't exactly listening I don't think. He kept his eyes cast toward the floor and didn't really cooperate when Pretty Lady tried to console him for whatever was wrong.

Kenny had stepped through the door with a bag of groceries and gestured that he was fine. Clyde held his hands up and asked me what was going on as though I'd know. "Tweek," Kenny called, setting the bag by the floor. Startled, the petite blonde turned around. "Come outside with me."

When the two shut the door behind themselves and everyone had gathered at the table, Clyde asked, "He isn't really a slut is he?"

"God, you're an idiot." This was why I liked his girlfriend. She knew the truth.

"Why else would he get all moody?" He argued, which was a good question.

But since when were good questions relevant to the blonde? If anything, it made sense for him to get upset over a false accusation.

Whatever was the problem, Kenny would let me know. I was positive about that, because for some reason, he's found it necessary to tell me everything that was wrong with Tweek since our little reunion.

Pretty Lady shrugged; there wasn't much else to do. "He was fine at the store. At least I thought he was having a good time. He was like the fucking fruit whisperer."

I imagined Tweek knocking on watermelon and feeling up the peaches. It was actually fairly cute.

Standing up from the table, I made my way to the door, and had to fight the dogs off so that I was the only one who escaped.

Outside, Tweek and Kenny were down by the ledge, Kenny leaning against the rail blocking the drop. The other blonde was on the ground, cross-legged. His jeans were tight and black, boots just the same. He wore a long-sleeved button up a couple of shades darker than his eyes and the way he tucked it in accentuated how skinny he was. I caught a snippet of their conversation just before he saw me, saying something like, "It just sucks that they don't trust me."

He heard my next footstep, looked at me, and shut up. "What?" I asked, scooting down next to him—got all close and shit. "You make me walk out here in my underwear and then you don't say anything?" This apartment complex has seen me nearly naked enough times to consider it natural, though. So I wasn't genuinely complaining.

"Sorry," he murmured, worrying his bottom lip.

 _Yeah, I did that last night too_ , my thoughts sniggered.

Kenny pushed away from the rail and started for the door, grinning when Tweek stared after him, reluctant to see him leave. "Explain yourself for once, Tweekers."

When Kenny was gone, his green eyes focused on me. They explored my face, assessing what was probably my rumpled hair and drowsy gaze. I'd just woken up, had the scare of a lifetime upon opening the refrigerator, and it was kind of chilly out.

"So what's going on?" I asked, figuring he wasn't about to start an explanation on his own. As expected, he turned away from me and didn't say anything for a long while.

"My parents," he eventually said, working the words out of his mouth with difficultly. "They don't really like me c-coming out here. Especially with Kenny."

Of course. What parent wanted their mental child leaving town with the neighborhood whore? "That's a bit understandable."

"Yeah." He smiled, but it was a bitter thing. He took another minute before explaining. "To them, right now I'm not making any smart decisions. I'm gay and my brain's not right and I'm susceptible to my friend's influence. They don't think I'm prude or a virgin or very innocent at all at the moment."

Prude wasn't the word I'd describe him as, either. The other night kind of changed that outlook for me. " _Oh._ " His attitude toward Clyde's joke was making sense, though. "They think you're a slut."

His bitter smile morphed into a grimace. "They've called to check in on me. I can hear my d-dad in the background."

"And he calls you a slut?" I didn't have a clear memory of Papa Tweak but I couldn't really see him calling  _anything_  a slut. Except maybe a dirty cup of a coffee.

"It's more like 'he's not one of those sluts like his friend, is he'?"

"And you're not."

He gave me this look of desperation. "I can't have my parents t-thinking that about me, dude!"

"Then get a boyfriend." He questioned me like he hadn't heard me. "Get a steady boyfriend that lives out here and they won't think anything of it." But Tweek  _was_  prude because he only had eyes for one guy. "Your cockblock crush might not like it and your boyfriend might not like it because you'll be hanging out with me all the time but—"

Tweek started laughing this light, whimsical sound. His cheeks were tinged pink. "Just shut up, Craig. That idea's stupid."

I leaned back against the wall, mission accomplished. "It's a foolproof idea, dude."

"Shut your mouth," he ordered. There was something flirtatious about the way he was grinning at me, all cheeky and such.

"You can't possibly be a slut when you're strictly a one-man type of a guy," I continued.

"Don't make me kiss you," he warned playfully.

My hands shot up. "Whoa, dude. I don't think your boyfriend will like that very—"

* * *

Clyde's woman and Tweek were putting together a "healthy meal". That's what she'd called it. We weren't allowed to say lunch anymore.

Rule number two was that only the ladies were allowed in the kitchen. Nobody was even given permission to taste-test, spoon-lick, or ingredient-pick.

So to pass the time, I sat in my room with the boys and sketched while they played with my paints. Often Clyde would say something like, "Look guys! I drew a penis going into a black hole!"

And Kenny would retort with something like, "No, that's just Token's anus."

Clearly, there was a good time to be had here.

Token was waiting for his  _lady friend_  to show up, and I supposed that was a good thing, because if it had been a date, he would have gone to get her instead.

All of the ways I'd wanted to capture Tweek, all of the things I'd wanted to draw about him, I was testing out in my sketchbook. It was a lot, so the graphite on my pencil kept running low, and for a simple sketch, I was getting generous with the details. His hands with their dainty fingers and sculpted nails hadn't consumed nearly as much lead as his eyes had, hooded with their thick lashes and dilated pupils showing through the shadows of my room. His pale smattering of freckles and his swollen, wet lips. Disheveled hair, the indent of his fingers biting into my skin. His half-concealed spinal cord.

A detailed mess resembling my rattled memory began to leave very few negative spaces on the paper. I felt like I'd ripped the blonde apart and was pressing him between the pages of my sketchbook like some people did with leaves and flowers. That's when I started scribbling leaves in his hair and flowers in his mouth, things that bloomed from his skin, and I blamed it on when I got him that Sprite because now I could only see him as this little fairy thing with twigs for eyebrows and moss for eyes. I tried to remember all I could from Stark's Pond and put him in the trees, in the water, as this giant sunflower with a blonde head full of petals.

My hand cramped and I let the pencil go. In my chest, my heart was racing, mind still illustrating with an imaginary utensil where I could watch Tweek unfold faster than I could draw. Utterly spaced out, I looked deep inside my head rather than at the ceiling.

"Craig. Dude." Kenny picked the sketchbook up off my stomach. He must've been trying to get my attention for a while since no one else was in my room anymore. From my open door I could hear the dogs barking as well as some muffled greetings. "Bailey's here. Since Token's not interested, I might go in for the kill— _okay_." He was staring at one particular page with a devious smirk. "Did you take advantage of my boy, Craigy-poo? I'm supposed to be keeping him safe, you know."

When I didn't say anything, he showed me what he was looking at. Tweek appeared noticeably turned on in the sketchbook, I'd go ahead and admit it. "You haven't been doing a very good job then, have you? It was a test." I winked, pointed in the general area of Tweek's bruised lips and added, "You failed. See, I kind of molested his mouth."

Kenny took a closer look and nodded his head. "Oh yes. I see you did. Looks like he took it well."

"Oh, he did."

From down the hallway there came a bustling, and then Clyde showed up in my doorway, winded from the short run. He needed to take up football again. "Dude. Bailey's a fucking lesbian. Tweek confirmed it. She wants my girlfriend. They're flirting!"

"I didn't confirm  _anything_ , Clyde," Tweek grumbled, showing up beside him, significantly less exhausted. "I said it's a possibility."

"Well don't change your mind  _now._  I was so excited." My best friend visibly deflated against the doorframe. I imagined he'd been having visions of two sets of boobs, his bed, and a wild night.

Tweek gave him a pointed stare. "Just because I'm gay d-doesn't mean I know when everyone else is." To Kenny and me he said, "Food's ready. Pretty Lady wants to eat outside. Token's friend is joining us."

Snorting, I asked him, "What kind of first impression does it look like my appearance is going to give off?"

Boxer-briefs were all I wore, and after taking a quick glance to see that I was lounging on my bed in a position of pure comfort, Tweek's cheeks colored and he grumbled something about "Then put some clothes on."

"Only if you dress me." He looked at me with a little embarrassment, a little like I was wasting time. I didn't move.

He rolled his eyes and assented, a smile smile on his face as he pulled open a drawer of my dresser to rifle through my clothes.

Coincidentally, he chose the right one: third from the top. It contained all of my clean jeans.

Clyde retreated with Kenny to get a second opinion on whether or not this Bailey girl was a lesbian. I straightened out my legs and leaned back so that Tweek would be able to slip my jeans on easily. He pulled out a pair that were just a nice, dark denim and came over to the bed. "You suck so bad," he giggled, holding the waist open so he could shove my feet into the holes.

The farthest he could stretch was to my knees where he stopped and stood back as though that was enough. Because I was totally going to go out there with pant legs hanging off my feet. I motioned for him to continue no matter the lengths he'd have to go. Huffing exaggeratedly, the blonde crawled onto the bed and shimmied my jeans up the length of my limbs. When he reached my hips, he was loosely straddling me, though it got a bit tighter when I lifted my butt off the bed.

He swallowed and tugged my jeans on the rest of the way, looking up at me with a question in his eyes. Was this good enough?  _No._ To show him what I meant, I looked down at my undone pant halves and then up at him.

His next breath came out shaky, but he buttoned my jeans—knuckles skimming across my stomach—and jerked the zipper up, a hand braced on my thigh to keep the fabric from moving with the motion. On my elbows, I inspected him curiously as he sat there with his hands laying precariously light against my skin, just inside the barrier of my hips. He wouldn't look at me, eyes focused intently on the bedspread beside us. And then he settled down, taking a seat right on top of me.

One of his hands pat my belly, and as he smiled, he dared a shy glimpse in my direction. I was able to clearly see his ribcage expand and contract heavily through the tank he'd switched into. The arm holes were cut low allowing me this. He wasn't necessarily  _expecting_  me to do anything, but the possibility was out there and that meant it could happen, so he was thinking about it and freaking out about it and maybe he wanted me to kiss him again.

This was his body's reaction. This stunted, deep breathing and the way he wet his lips. And if his body was going through the trouble of getting ready for a kiss, then I might as well indulge his hormones. They seemed to fancy me. Lord knows how long he's kept those poor, underprivileged things dormant for.

But I didn't get that far because I asked him a question instead. It just kind of occurred me, the stories and tidbits he's told. Not that they couldn't add up or make sense, I just didn't want to have to go through the equation of his past relationship and figure it out when the answer was straddling my lap.

"You never kissed your boyfriend?"

"What?" He asked quickly, blinking rapidly.

"You said you've kissed a girl but not a guy. You've had a boyfriend, though. You just never kissed him?" I didn't blame him for breaking it off with Tweek if that was the case. He couldn't even  _kiss_  someone who wasn't his cockblock crush? Even when 'someone' was his boyfriend?

Except he'd let me kiss him.

Maybe he was over it. Maybe that boyfriend of his had been years ago and he's realized since then that holding out for some unrequited crush was useless. He's just never gotten with another man since.

Whatever it was, it was too complicated for my simplistic way of thinking and suddenly I wished I hadn't even brought it up.

"I lied," he blurted out. There was guilt and apology in his expression, so blatantly obvious that I didn't have to draw him to know what it was. "I—I did it so I could— I just wanted to kiss you, okay?" His palm thumped again his forehead and he peeked at me from around his wrist. "It—I—uh, God. I didn't meant to lie! I'm so sorry for lying b-but it just  _h-happened_ , you know?" Mood switching violently to desperation, he murmured, "You wouldn't have done it otherwise."

This guy was a riot. Obviously he didn't know who Craig Tucker was because if something was going to happen, Craig Tucker always found a way to make it happen whatever the circumstance.

"Yeah, I would've."

"What?" He asked again, similarly to the first time.

"I still would've drawn you," I explained. "I would've gotten ideas of how to do it and I would've eventually thought of the shadows. Last night would've been your first kiss, instead. That's all. Or it would've been  _our_  first kiss—since, you know—you kind of lied to me about your _real_  first kiss." He began sputtering apologies all over the place. "I was just kidding. I honestly don't care that you lied to kiss me. It's actually an ego boost, so thanks."

"You  _were_  my first kiss. I lied about k-kissing a girl, too." Tweek was just full of secrets this evening.

"Super ego boost."

He wasn't about to humor me, and our names were called from the living room. His head shot toward the door as though he'd find someone looking in at us. "We should go," he said.

"Why'd you lie to kiss me?" His lips parted to speak and I thought this profile view of him was very nice to look at. The straight slope of his nose and his plump lips, the petite curve of his chin. "Finally decide that your cockblock crush wasn't worth it?" I antagonized.

"Yeah, a-actually. I did," he sputtered, scurrying away.

I kind of felt like he just lied again.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

_Here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten._

—Vampire Weekend, Horchata

* * *

We all sat outside in the middle of the apartment complex where the yard was grassy. Lunch had turned out to be an early dinner which turned out to be veggie wraps. Somehow Clyde had smuggled turkey into his, leaving Token and I to fend for ourselves since Kenny found veggie wraps to be just the cutest thing. Bailey ended up being this blonde haired, dimple cheeked, hazel eyed girl. Definitely pretty, and definitely a lesbian. I supposed I actually should've thought of her as beautiful, but I was quirky when it came to things like that. My brain didn't function or recognize people the same way others did.

Beauty wasn't something I found in faces or personality. I rarely found it anywhere at all. More than anything I thought of it as my relationship with Clyde and Token, a creation built by inspiration, the way animals communicated with each other. Clyde himself was beautiful to me; Stripe had been beautiful to me. Very seldom did any other _living_  thing portray beauty. The times I did happen to come across such a thing was when I drew someone. I could skin a person down to their bones and just as long as they had their eyes, I'd find them beautiful. But they had to be the right type of eyes. Genuine eyes with honesty and pure emotion because you couldn't hide from me when your eyes were open.

Whatever she was, it became apparent right away that Tweek was not only my muse, but her's as well. She'd called him unique and took random pictures of him when he wasn't expecting it, something of which he'd begun to turn deathly afraid of. By the time we were done eating, it was rare that you ever saw his face from behind his shirt pulled right up to his forehead. Supposedly these off-guard pictures of him made him look "angelic" because he was caught so unaware. There was this oblivious innocence in his eyes, she'd said, a curious look ghosting across his features.

I'd had to tickle him to get his head out of his tank a couple of times, occasions of which a new ticklish spot of his was discovered: his butt. After our previous conversation, he hadn't really wanted me anywhere near his ass, and was thoroughly humiliated when I wouldn't relent. Bailey was able to get a few shots of him smiling and laughing as well as one where he'd tried to wring my neck. The Julibeagles had been in a few but then they got a little too excited and started humping each other. Clyde ended up having to split them apart and return them to our apartment. Conversations had bloomed into existence, Pretty Lady and Bailey hit it off, Clyde's vision of a threesome began to reformulate, and Kenny started skirting around the edges trying to find a way in. The sun was setting and all I really wanted to do was draw Tweek again.

The building engulfing us confined our eyes from the morphing sky, though due to experience I knew that the colors would be like pastels, and the closer they moved toward the sun, the more vibrant and neon they would become. A burst of eccentric orange would be at the center of it all. But from where we were, all we could see was a cloudless blue, this pure shade that registered as lovely in my brain. And from below, the lush grass was rich with the texture and color of autumn. Scattered leaves resembling the sunset shifted listlessly along the ground. And then underneath and on top of all of that was this blonde, this Tweek Tweak, who matched effortlessly with the nature and the weather and the season. My interest in him was so ardent no matter what surroundings I found him in.

It happened to be that he took a glance in my direction and did this little double-take as he caught me inspecting him. He blushed but didn't move, mindful that I was drawing him with my eyes. Despite his modesty, he didn't even look away. He held my gaze with his own of green intensity and didn't once break our connection. Leaning back on the palms of his hands, skinny legs crossed at the ankles, expression soft and neutral, my heart started hammering. There was a creativity inside of me that begged for this boy to be a part of it. It clawed its way down my arms and sung through the nerves in my eyes. My imagination quaked with the things that I could do with him―to him. Inspiration to this degree I've only ever felt with Stripe, but here was Tweek, and I thought he was incredible. There was supposed to be a difference because Stripe had been  _mine_. We'd been dedicated to each other. And a person was all Tweek was supposed to be. Except the _difference_  that was supposed to be between him and what I'd had with Stripe was too blurred to determine. I couldn't read where I should stop with Tweek.

I felt possessive sitting there assessing him because he was perfect―he worked. He was compatible with this ability of mine. In what I could create with my hands, he had a place and I didn't want him to be removed from it. My gaze slid down his face, past those tinted cheeks and that animalistic nose. His distinguishable cupid's bow and bitten bottom lip enthralled me. I wished I was sitting nearer, could look at him more closely. His mouth parted, lips puffing out attractively; the tips of his straight teeth showed. I returned my eyes to his, but he was no longer looking at them. He'd mimicked me and was staring at my mouth. Purposefully, I wet my lips leisurely. This time he quickly glanced away, cheeks darkening.

These reactions of his always intrigued me. With a smirk, I turned my head and found Bailey with her camera pointed in our direction. She lowered it once she caught me looking at her through the lens. "Sorry," she said, switching her eyes from me to Tweek and back. "That was just really intense. Do you mind if I use it for our project?"

Tweek began to object. "Go ahead," I accepted. My generosity was reprimanded by a glare, but that was alright, because I used his attitude as an excuse to roll over to him and antagonize. My body bumped into his extended legs as I made my way over, causing me to come to an abrupt stop. "We're both models now."

"I'm not a  _model_ ," he grumbled, picking up some leaves and tossing them on my face. "Only for you." His jest included forgiveness. I reached up and tugged on a lock of his hair.

By six-thirty it got to be too dark for Tweek. He was paranoid that someone would sneak up on him and nobody would know because we wouldn't be able to see. His description of this person was that they were a serial killer, but an old serial killer, so that they had to wheeze past the phlegm in their throat and their gelatinous wrinkles gave them a creepy approach. It didn't seem to register that this imaginary person was probably around seventy years old and Tweek would most likely be able to fend for himself. He was just dead set that there was a man stalking the perimeter and that he had to leave  _right now_  otherwise he wouldn't be safe.

Whatever got me out of that suffocating group of too many people, I'd take it. So I went with Tweek back to the apartment where the dogs had gotten into the trash as redemption for leaving them inside. I'd tried to get the blonde to leave it alone, tried to put the burden of cleaning on Pretty Lady since the dogs were technically her's, but he just couldn't sit still knowing that there was a mess. I was perched on the couch, watching him clean up the floor with these yellow rubber gloves used for the sink. It'd been pretty cute despite the smell and the rot. Once he was finished, he practically ran to the bathroom ripping his clothes off to keep the muck from corroding his flesh or whatever he thought would happen if he didn't clean himself off as fast as he could.

After a few minutes, I got up from the couch and thought I'd walk to my room and let him know that that's where I'd be once he got out. From the hallway, the water could be heard, so when I jiggled the doorknob just to get his attention, I hadn't expected it to actually  _turn_. I started sniggering as I thought to myself, _This is so perfect_.

The door wedged open a crack and a bit of heat seeped through, although despite the push being slight and quiet, Tweek still managed to know.

"Get the fuck out!" He shrieked, throwing what was probably a shampoo bottle against the door. It slammed shut, thrusting me back a foot.

"Should've locked the door, retard!" I yelled back, this time throwing it open as I did.

The mirror was fogged and a wall of steam hit my body, immediately seeking to moisturize my hair. Tweek was under the spray from the shower head with a grin on his lips because he'd managed to get a towel around his waist. He didn't mind that it was getting soaked just as long as it covered him. His skin was glistening with droplets that blitzed down his throat, shoulders, arms, his chest and stomach. Stuck to his face was his hair, soaked and tamed into wet strands. The redness of his cheeks was also appearing on his shoulders as well as his collar where the water beat the hardest.

Sucking on his lower lip, the blonde was no longer able to keep up his smug exterior and turned away from me a fraction. I'd just barged in on him in the shower―there was no way that he wasn't embarrassed. "Continue," I said. At my gesture coupled with leaning against the doorframe, Tweek ground his teeth together and stubbornly inclined his chin toward the spray. Eyes shut, lashes kissing his cheeks, he ignored me. With his neck outstretched, body relaxed in the surrounding heat, I honestly thought for a second that he was about to do it. That he was going to drop his towel and finish washing off right in front of me. The fabric was already slipping down his hips anyways.

But then he reached for the nozzle and cut off the water entirely. "Can you get me a new towel?" He asked politely, sweetly. I complied only because he'd cleaned up a mess he hadn't made in a place that was not his own. Opening the cupboard beneath the sink, I reached in and grabbed a towel. The blonde shrieked when I tossed it, and just to catch it, he nearly lost the one around his hips.

My brows lifted and I smirked, leaning against the counter while Tweek took a moment to glare at me. He changed his look to one of expectation, motioning for me to leave. "What?" I asked, feigning confusion, secretly daring him to flash me.

"You can either stay right there and I'll go into your room with a this towel and get all your shit wet or you can leave and keep everything you own dry."

Needless to say, I backed my ass up and saved my room from its demise. "Don't put your clothes on," I warned him as I headed farther down the hall. "I have an idea."

In my room, I began rifling under my bed for my easel and a pad of paper. They were easily located since lately it was pretty much every single day that I dragged them out. Their frequent use was unusual, but I guessed Tweek had that kind of effect on things. Maybe I would start leaving them out. It wasn't like my room was too crowded or anything. And then after Tweek went back to South Park, I could hide them away again, because once he was gone, their use would become minimal at best.

All set up and waiting, I began looking through past portraits of Tweek, grinning because he had no clue what was about to come.  _I_  didn't even know what was about to happen entirely. It was crazy, completely uncalled for, and he probably wasn't going to like it, but seeing him in the shower had kind of inspired this _one_  particular idea.


	30. Chapter Thirty

_That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful._

—Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

Tweek appeared in my doorway wearing the towel, now damp, around his waist. It was tied off at his side causing the cloth to sag down his hip, pronouncing the protrusion of the bone. He'd ruffled his hair, giving it a quick once-over with the towel so it wouldn't drip droplets onto his shoulders. His darkened locks were messy, less controlled than they'd been under the water.

Nervously, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "What—uh. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to sit where you usually sit." He asked me if I meant in the towel. "Yeah, in the towel. You're not allowed to put clothes on yet."

"You're not—" he spun his hand around to get the words out "—you know, going to draw me nude. Are you?"

It wasn't easy suppressing my grin. "No. But I can guarantee you at some point I will." His brows rose and he blinked a few times, tentatively stepping further into my room and shutting the door. He looked terrified, nauseous.

He might've tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "W-We'll see about that."

When he sat down, I gave him some time to situate himself and the towel before telling him about my semi-spontaneous idea.

"So I have this thing about emotions. I like them—a lot. On other people. They're not really my thing." Tweek gave me a look like  _no shit_. "And I've kind of been cataloguing yours." At this, he cocked his head slightly to the side, a very birdlike gesture, eyes alight with curiosity. "There's one that I'd really like to draw so I want you to feel it. Right now."

"Okay." He nodded his head because this he could understand. This wasn't something out of his comfort zone. Not yet.

My plan wasn't finished, though. Poor kid had no idea what he'd just agreed to. "Aren't you wondering what emotion I'm talking about?"

His gaze was suspicious as it assessed me. "You're not going to beat me up and make me cry are you?"

"Not even close." I grinned cheekily and that's when fear began to prod at him. "Guess again."

"Are you..." he pondered, "going to throw me into a dumpster and make me face my biggest fear?"

I shook my head. "You're really fucking cold right now."

"You're going to tell me that you figured out what's wrong with me and cure all of my issues?" I just looked at him. "You're going to knock me out and draw me sleeping?"

"Of course not. I can draw you sleeping whenever I want."

"I don't know then, dude!" He gave up. "Just tell me."

"What's it called when you're turned on?" I wanted to hear him say the word.

He gawked at me, puzzled and then baffled and then comprehending.

"Oh," was the only thing he said for a moment. His reaction was making me feel a mixture of excitement and mischievousness. This was going to be fun. "A—" I nodded my head, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

_Keep going._

Tweek debated the word before pronouncing it slowly. "A... Arousal?"

His lips moved to form another question, but he never got that far. He let it go prematurely and just stared at me with his big eyes and long lashes.

I wondered how long he was going to ogle at me for. To keep it from reaching an unusual amount of time, I relented and said, "So what do you think?"

"I don't—I don't know what you want me to do." But he was totally going to do it. For whatever reason, I had complete control over this guy. I could literally make him do _anything_. This was fucking awesome.

Sitting back in my chair, I asked, "You've never turned yourself on?"

His cheeks pigmented. "What if I get a  _b-boner_  or something?"

"Boners are cool, dude. That means you're genuinely turned on." He didn't like that; he was embarrassed.  _Damn it._  I had to fix my mistake. "I'm not going to draw your boner if you get one. It's your eyes that I care about."

It was the pupil dilation and the thick mist that would shroud his green irises. The emotion needed to be strong and if he wasn't capable of doing it himself, I knew I could do it for him. I didn't care if he was holding out for some cockblock crush. I'd find a way to turn him on.

Running a hand through is wet locks, he pushed the fringe from his face. "So I just—... I can't believe I'm doing this," he laughed. "Okay. You just want me to think of something that'll turn me on?"

My hands shot up. "Whoa. Let's not get creepy here. I don't want you thinking about a  _thing_."

"I meant  _someone!_ " He cried.

"Just checking," I teased, scooting myself behind my easel. "So I'll just sit back here and not look at you while you get in the mood."

"Hey! I—I don't know what to do." I peeked around the edge of my paper skeptically. He appeared frazzled sitting there on the edge of my bed in only a loose towel. "I've never p-purposefully turned myself on before."

Then this was about to get pretty goddamn interesting. I returned to my station behind my easel. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel as though he couldn't do this, because he definitely could—he seemed like the secret wild thing type to me—a black horse—or to get so uncomfortable that he wussed out.

We just needed to remain calm and pretend like this was an everyday occurrence.

"Alright." I cracked my neck from side to side, relishing in the snaps. "What do you like about guys?" Before he could comment on that, I added, "Dicks are a given. I want to hear what you personally find attractive. What makes a particular guy your type?"

"Like, appearance wise?" It was obvious how scared he was by the tone of his brittle voice. "I—uh."

Picking up one of my graphite pencils, I drummed it against my knuckles. "Just pick out some details that you always look for."

For a moment he considered my suggestion. When he was ready to tell me, he said, "Height. I guess I like height. T-Tall, I mean."

"Okay. We can work with that." I nodded my head despite the fact that he couldn't see me. "So think of this tall guy. He's in this room with you and you're in your towel and you're still all wet and fresh from your shower. I know it sounds like I'm describing myself but I promise this guy is all in your head," I clarified. Tweek muffled an embarrassed giggle or maybe he was choking. "And we're not in my room. You're wherever the hell you want to be in your head. What else do you like?"

"Uhm—hips? I like hips." His hesitance made me smirk.

"Sounds mega hot. Alright; so this guy—he's a man. He's a man and he's tall and his hips are just delectable. He was blessed with the most scrumptious looking V lines. And he's gay and he's just for you. How is this sounding?"

Tweek was probably shaking his head right about now in an attempt to maintain his humor or maybe he was still choking. "It sounds good. But I like hands, too."

Again, I nodded. "What kind of hands? What do they look like?"

He hummed momentarily before saying, "Big hands. Just bigger than mine."

"Wonderful. Because this dream man of yours has those exact hands. Now don't tell me, but what are the things this guy does? Think about his hands that are just bigger than yours and think about what you want them to do to you." I let that digest in his system for a second and then threw out a couple of examples. "Maybe he's kissing you and his hands are holding your face because he wants you right there and he doesn't want to stop." Honestly, I was so good at this I was about to turn myself on. "Where is he touching you?" Creating boners were like my forte. "Maybe you're not wearing that towel anymore."

To check my progress, I took another peek around my easel and spotted Tweek. His eyes were cast toward the floor where every now and then he'd blink slowly. He looked like he was concentrating, cheeks lightly dappled pink. It was like he'd only just noticed me and started in his seat a bit, blush darkening a shade. I asked him how he was doing and he answered me with: "Oh, I am  _so_  turned on. Major boner over here, dude." But there was a shady aspect to his eyes that he couldn't hide. It wasn't enough to satisfy me, but it  _would_  work for something else.

This was good. I could take advantage of that pinch of darkness. I'd play his game just to ease him into it. "How turned on?"

The blonde rolled his eyes to emphasize just how greatly this imaginary man had impacted him. "So hard, dude, let me tell you."

"Damn. That sounds pretty fucking hard." Pretending like I had absolutely no ulterior motive, I stood up from my chair and took a step in Tweek's direction. "Quite an extreme boner right there."

"Oh yeah." The blonde's nod was exaggerated. " _Yeah._ "

_You have no clue what I'm about to do to you._  I wandered closer and stopped just before his legs hanging off the bed. Though he'd scrubbed his hair, scant drops of water collected on his shoulders. One drizzled down his chest, stopping short past his collarbone.

He looked up at me and realized that I'd moved so near. "I don't know if I believe you."

His eyes widened for a quick instant before he could think of a retort. "W-Well, I'm not lying," was all he could come up with. I grinned down at him.

"I think I'd better check. Just in case." The smirk wiped clear off Tweek's face. He was malleable as I urged him to stand—pressed close between me and the bed—and dropped my hands to the waistline of his towel. His body understood and his chest began to heave but his brain was slow to register and it wasn't until I'd slipped my fingers beneath the towel that recognition and alarm registered on his features. Inching a little lower, my digits grazed his soft flesh.

It was as though he had to brace himself suddenly. His fingers of one hand dug into the nape of my neck while the rest latched around my wrist. "Craig—" At first I thought he meant to stop me, but when I tested his restraint, my palm was able to slide down his thigh. He inhaled sharply, and when I traced my hand back up his skin, closer to his crotch, it came out shaky. He let go of me, fingertips trailing up my arm to wrap around my neck. "This..." I bowed my head against his mouth to hear him whisper, damp and dry hair mingling. "This is just for your art?" Nodding, I repeated his question.  _Just for my art._  "Okay," he breathed.

Immediately I sought to palm his flesh. He was warm in my hand. At my back, his fingers tightened. This would be a first for him. I was interested to see how he'd react, what noises he'd make, how long it'd take him to lose control, whether or not he really was a black horse. Wetting my lips, I let them brush against Tweek's cheek, palm rubbing in a reoccurring rhythm as I tempted him into hardening. He turned his chin up and I kissed the corner of his mouth, skin soaking up the heat of his sporadic breath. As he bit down on his bottom lip, face flushing a modest shade of rose, he shifted forward. His bare chest knocked against mine and I wondered if he liked the texture of my flannel, if he liked the friction.

His length grew and I accommodated it by wrapping my fingers around him. He began panting a notch louder, nudging our mouths together. Because his lips were already parted, I dipped my tongue between them and licked at his own. Wet, his tongue pushed back, running flat against mine before rolling in a slick haste. To get closer, he lifted his heels and teetered toward my body, arousal thrusting into my hand. He had to break away to breath harshly, clamping down on his lip crudely as his shoulders shuddered. I nuzzled my nose against his jaw, kissing the underside of it just before nipping at the same spot. His pulse was racing.

I wrapped my lips around the beating section and sucked softly, unsure of what he'd like. It wasn't often that I was gentle, but if that's what Tweek wanted, I'd adjust to his needs. When his head tipped back, I formed a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. The further I pumped him and the firmer he grew, the more his cover loosened and sagged. There was a point where it became a hassle and I removed my hand to untie the towel. He reacted fast, fingers returned to my wrist, this time to bind me. "I—I don't want to be the only one naked," the blonde rapidly explained. I offered to take off my shirt and had this been any other circumstance, I don't think he would've agreed to it. But he kind of had a boner and the rules just weren't the same when you took that into account because shirtless Craig totally equalled naked Tweek.

Nodding his head, he released my limb. "I'll take my shirt off first." Goddamn thing was buttoned, though. I didn't know why I'd chosen to wear it today of all days. This was the one time when I needed clothes that I cold make quick work of. The buttons slid through their holes easily enough, Tweek watching the entire time, and when the two halves split apart, I got just what I'd wanted. His pupils dilated considerably, enamoring me. I shrugged my flannel the rest of the way off and didn't even hear it land on the floor around our feet.

I wondered if I had the hips he liked. My bones were fairly prominent and my V lines were subtle indentions. Before I could untie the blonde's towel, he reached out and cradled my waist. His lips were parted, puffed slightly, and he licked just the bottom one as he ghosted his thumbs over the angle of my hips. I tipped my head back, losing focus of my room for a moment when I let the sensation of his touch fill me. That...had felt rather good. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against my chest. He ran the pads of his thumbs over my skin a second time causing my stomach to clench at the seductive tickle. My eyelids fluttered and for a few seconds I completely forgot what I was supposed to be doing.

Tweek didn't seem to mind, focused on my abdomen instead. He brushed his fingers along my happy trail, traced it back up to my navel. I grabbed his chin and brought him up to kiss me. His hands traveled up my chest, tangled in my hair. I reached down and untucked the ends of his towel. This time I heard it, and just the automatic thought that this blonde that I was obsessed with drawing was naked distracted me all the way out of reality. It felt like none of this was real as I touched the outer and inner curves of his thighs, pulled him tight against me and held him there, listened to him make this noise like a whisper into my hair. He was on the tips of his toes, arms to the elbows around my neck, but I just couldn't stand down, was unwilling to give him leverage. I felt primal—I felt like a fucking animal, dominating.

Our mouths were nothing but tongue and breath and saliva. It was wet, smooth, and inviting. The blonde's erection rubbed against my crotch causing a hitch to stunt his choppy inhale. We pulled away and made eye contact in unison. His eyes were nearly black and I knew that mine had to have been, too. "Craig," he panted, digging his nails into my skin. My body shivered at the bite, eliciting in the short pain. He came closer and rubbed himself against me earnestly. Another short noise escaped his lips, enticing me. These sounds of his were too fleeting, too scarce.

The next time I spoke it was in low tones, husky in the back of my throat. "You like hands?" I asked, dragging mine down the expanse of his sides. He looked startled at first, exhaling in surprise, until he nodded his head. My fingers gripped his hips tightly, kneading into his flesh. "Where did you imagine them?" Tweek swallowed thickly, whimpering sweetly before grabbing either of my hands and maneuvering them over his ass. My stomach clenched impossibly tight. When I grabbed him, squeezing and thrusting him against me, a broken moan escaped his lips. His fingers returned to my hair, scrabbling for purchase as I rocked him into my hips.

"Craig," he said again. I slid one of my hands beneath his cheek and hiked his leg onto my waist. " _Ah_ —" He arched his back, eyes shut tight. His nails raked down my arms and I just couldn't fucking stop. My clothed hips against his bare caused friction and he liked it; he kept making noises and they all sounded so goddamn attractive to my ears.

"Fuck." I lifted him onto my bed. Nobody has ever been on my bed like this and still I put him right there and he pulled on my arms to bring me to him. He let me between his legs and hugged me with his knees. The blonde nibbled on my lower lip and roved his palms down my back, slipped them around my waist and hooked a few of his fingers through my belt loops. My body bared down over his and we were lavishing each other's tongues when one of his hands slid around to my front and cupped me through my jeans.  _Fuck._

Automatically I began to fumble with my button and zipper, undoing them so I could grab Tweek's hand and introduce it to my dick. Through my boxer-briefs his palm had a luxurious warmth to it. I dropped my forehead to his, watching his response as he shuddered beneath me and I honestly think he just about came, moaning this needy sound that brought my fingers around his length.

A thought occurred to me, and I knew just what he needed before the orgasm of his first hand job. I dropped my head to the side and sidled my lips in close to his ear, just waiting for the right moment. His hips began reacting to my pumping fingers, instinctual in their shallow thrusts. My thumb dabbed at the head of his erection, smearing precum and spurring him on.

The right moment was the one clear instant where Tweek lost control. It was when his orgasm hit him. He thrust into my hand, clawed at my back, and tugged me closer by the shoulders; he arched his back, spread his legs; he moaned my name and repeated it multiple times in a cracked tone of voice that made my spine tingle. It was all done with abandon.

So I whispered in his ear: " _Tweek._ " And I hadn't planned it, but I also said, "I think you're beautiful."

His lashes were long and dark over his eyes, bleary and fluttering. It was such a different light, a murky light, that I found in them like the beam of a lighthouse splitting through the fog. He came half into my hand, half on my stomach, but that was okay. I didn't mind body fluids the same way he did.

Once the blonde had taken a few rejuvenating breaths, this small smile appeared on his lips that I associated with how accomplished he must've felt. Neither of us had expected that much. I'd taken it as a possibility but I had honestly meant to stop. The lust was gone from his eyes and I'd have to draw it from memory now.

Or we could do this again and maybe I'd have more restraint next time. That and I had a pressing boner and a palm full of semen. The moment I moved, Tweek spoke up, soft-toned and whimsy sounding. "Did you mean it?"

Swallowing, I grabbed the edge of the blanket to cover him up and attempted to refrain was looking. "Yes," I admitted, getting down on an elbow to tuck him in. "You are very beautiful."

His smile grew and, sleepily, he asked, "Can we do this all the time?"

I smirked. "Sure, let's make it a habit. I'm flattered to know that you want me to jack you off all the time."

Again, I made to move, and again he stopped me. "Stay with me for a c-couple of minutes."

I looked from my wet hand to the bulge in my pants. "Okay," I grumbled, dropping my head against his chest. He sifted his fingers through my hair.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are.  
I had to find you, tell you I need you  
Tell you I set you apart_

_—The Scientist, Coldplay_

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up. Craig was  _snoring_  next to me—he's never snored before—and wasn't even beneath the covers. It looked as though he'd been up all night and finally just decided to pass out carelessly. I wondered if he had.

But then I realized something the exact _second_  that I shifted to get out of bed and whatever he'd been doing was no longer a matter of interest because I was still naked. Suddenly it was a good thing he wasn't beneath the covers. Near scrambling, I tried not to create as many ripples as possible in the mattress as I made a dash for the floor and searched for my clothes I'd left by the door. As soon as I felt my jeans, they were on my legs—commando, but I was covered.

A sigh escaped me, full of the things that could've been: waking up in the _morning_  naked, someone waking us up to find me naked, no covers and sleeping next to Craig naked. Each of them was a terrifying possibility. Humiliation to that degree wouldn't have been something I could've lived down.

Silently, I opened the door and snuck through the crack. I'd promptly fallen asleep after—S _weet Jesus_ —how had that happened?

Craig's hands—and his mouth—and those hips—and I'd touched them and he'd touched me and—that was my first orgasm. That was my first fucking orgasm and it had been Craig's fault.

My head felt unexpectedly light and I put a hand against the wall for balance. It was impossible to think about that right now, impossible to comprehend.

So I turned my thoughts over and focused on why I'd woken up. I just hadn't had the chance to take my medication or brush my teeth. My entire  _existence_  would be messed up for the day if I didn't get those things done. Already I was getting fidgety with the feeling that nothing was right. Things just felt wrong, even as I sifted through my backpack for my medication that would fix everything.

A sudden click like the tapping of glass on the counter sounded from behind me. Fear penetrated my response and I spun around faster than I could think to run only to see that none of that was necessary. It was just Kenny pouring a shot of what might've been vodka. He was hunkered over the small glass so I figured this wasn't his first.

Once it was filled, he set the bottle down and raised the shot in my direction in cheers before downing it. "Why are you drinking by yourself?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be in s-someone's bed?"

"Shouldn't you go back to Craig's?" He sniggered, placing the shot glass in the sink. As I returned to my bag to grab what I needed, he began to saunter over. "We heard"— _holy fucking shit no no no_ — "that you passed the fuck out." Mother of God, I'd nearly died just then. Fear killed people sometimes. It was one of the things I was most afraid of. "Care to explain?"

"Explain what?" My fake nonchalance sounded horrendous. Kenny was clearly very aware that I hadn't fallen asleep for no reason. He probably already knew that—Oh God, my orgasm knocked me out cold. Was that normal? Maybe it was some chemical reaction in my body. Maybe it had a name like Unconscious-inducing Orgasming. What if it was a rare form of some STD? Where the hell had I gotten an STD from?

Could it be possible that I wasn't born a virgin? And now my body could create STD's on its own? Craig wouldn't want me if I was a walking STD.

I attempted to put an immediate stop to my paranoid theories by swallowing my medication dry.

"How were you so exhausted that you passed out?" Kenny asked. He was standing at the mouth of the kitchen and wasn't about to let me past so I could brush my teeth. A dim light above the sink allowed me to see the droop of his eyelids, the lazy grin on his lips. I dipped beneath his arm and came up on the other side where I could safely wash my mouth out. "Come on now, Tweekers. Don't start keeping secrets," he breathed into my ear.

He caged me with his arms, chest brushing lightly against my back to reenforce the presence of his position. I shook my head to get him away. The last person who'd been there had been Craig and I wasn't ready to replace those words he'd said to me because I was beautiful to him and maybe that meant that I was getting somewhere.

Kenny waited patiently, resting his forehead against my shoulder as I brushed my teeth for a minimum of two minutes and finished off with chipmunk cheeks full of mouthwash. Once I was done, I patted my lips with a paper towel and set my brush with it on the counter to dry. It was then that I turned around and looked up at the blonde whose hair was in a disarray. There was a musky scent on him that reached beyond the mint of my breath. Bruises were on his neck and showing beneath the unbuttoned portion of his shirt. His lips were red and wet and swollen. He'd just gotten back from having sex.

When he leaned forward, I remained stationed in my spot. Behavior like this—small stolen kisses and playful nips—was common when it came to him. He was nuzzling my jawline with his mouth, scooting his arms closer to frame me tighter, when I started smiling and waited. The time it took was short, just a simple rubbing of his lips down the expanse of my neck, before he pulled away and gazed down at me with a look that said he'd known and he was proud.

"Dude," Kenny mumbled. "I can't give you any hickeys; somebody beat me to it." My smile stretched so wide that it hurt but I couldn't stop. "What happened between you and him?" He tipped his head slightly to the side, assessing me for whatever signs intuitive people like him looked for. There were the hickeys on my neck and nothing covering my bottom but hastily thrown on jeans. I didn't think my lips were still raw or my face still flushed by anything but the memory and this conversation. So I had no idea how he guessed it so easily. "You should let me give you an orgasm sometime, alright? I can guarantee it'll be satisfactory. Craig and I can make a competition out of it."

"No, I don't t-think that's going to happen. Sorry," I laughed.

"You know, I thought he was pretty energized when we came back in." It took my saliva a fairly long time to get past my throat. Kenny smiled wryly and nodded his head like  _that's right_. "Clyde was wondering what was up when you two left. Why you both are always so secluded when you're together. He thinks you're stealing his best friend away. I reassured him that you weren't but I'm not so sure now."

That was funny. I rolled my eyes and said, "Craig loves Clyde."

"And you love Craig. Clyde's just going to have to deal, I guess."

A dizzying sensation clamped down around my skull. The moment froze for an instant, this terrorizing split second that added onto the day and made it just that much longer and frightening. "Why did you say that?" I asked him.

The blonde's features narrowed sharply, lips turned up all abused and dangerous. "Because it's true even though you're scared to realize it." Had I wanted to say anything, he wouldn't have given me the chance, but it wasn't like I had control over my mouth anyways. I didn't have much control over anything at that point. It was remarkable that I was still existing at all. "Tweek," his voice softened at the edges. "How long has this been going on?"

"Eight years." I sounded like the the scrape of dead leaves on pavement.

"And who was your first crush?" He prompted.

I swear I had gravel for teeth. "Craig."

"Who else have you ever had a crush on? Felt anything remotely similar to how you do for Craig?"

My head shook numbly, bobbing in a world full of water. "I—Kenny, I don't—"

Raising a hand, he ruffled my hair and kissed my forehead. "Not many, right? Not even one. Just think about it and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

He dropped his prison of limbs and I felt robotic—no heart, no head, just rusted joints—as I put my stuff away and headed back to Craig's room. Halfway there and suspicious of the crack in Clyde's bedroom door, Kenny reminded me that we'd be leaving tomorrow. By the time I managed to situate Craig beneath the covers and get back into bed, I wasn't even a robot. I wasn't anything at all.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

_I was just guessing, at numbers and figures_  
Pulling the puzzles apart  
Questions of science, science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart

 _—_ The Scientist, Coldplay

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I woke up a second time while Craig was still fast asleep. It was much later, roughly two in the afternoon, but Craig had gone to bed after me so I let that be his excuse. He wasn't snoring anymore and he'd moved around to lay on his side facing me. In much the same position, I watched his sleeping features dawdle in whatever dream he might've been having. Reaching out, I combed my fingers through his bangs and pushed them from his face. There were never any tangles in his hair, always so thick and soft. A hint of stubble ran along his jawline and I brushed my fingers over that too.

My stomach twisted delightfully; it was an attractive look—rugged. I traced the supple shape of his lips with my eyes, my thumb carefully following. As the pad slowly eased along the bottom curve of his lip, a seam formed. His breath was gentle and warm when it grazed the palm of my hand. Smiling, I leaned in close and let that same breath touch my mouth. "You're beautiful too," I cooed, hand trailing down his throat. As my path continued down his chest, he inhaled deeply and the press of his skin against my fingers was alluring. His heart pounded against his ribcage, rhythmic and steady, visible thumps that attracted my eye.

It hadn't been noticeable until I began touching him, and I knew that subconsciously his body was reacting to me. This knowledge excited me. My blood ran faster, my pulse spiked, my own body reacted to his reaction in some foreign, sensual domino effect. It was physical and I liked it and I wasn't going to stop. His skin was a tempting temperature, emitting warmth that stuck to the sheets and cocooned my huddled figure. It occurred to me that tonight I'd be in my own bed, and even though I'd only been here but about a week, it was hard to remember what sleeping by myself was like. All I knew laying next to Craig was that it sucked being alone at home. I hadn't even known it  _could_  suck until I'd come here.

It was then that I wondered if Craig would ever stay the night in  _my_  bed. I highly doubted he'd ever make it back to South Park, but if he did, would that be okay? Staying the night at my house? My parents would put cameras in my room and keep a security guard on watch at all times, so as long as he could get past that... The only boyfriend I've ever had hadn't liked them because of how protective they were. I hadn't even known they were capable of it, that they cared so much, until I'd told them that I was in a relationship. Things had never been safe with him. We'd rarely gotten the chance to be alone, but I hadn't minded. Thomas's peer pressure was the only reason I'd even tried for a relationship and the entire time I'd been stuck on Craig just like I've always been and always would be, a thing of which had been clear since my ex first grew interested.

He hadn't been anything like Craig. No subtle masculinity to his features, no paint splattered hands, no icy eyes or baby chub when he ate a lot. I've never felt comfortable under anyone's scrutinizing gaze except for Craig's. His was never meant to judge, just to analyze and satisfy. My heart never sputtered like it was choking on lungs full of heady smoke, my pulse never reached my fingertips, my body never responded so eagerly—only with Craig. Every day that's passed hasn't been enough, and any days that might come next would never be enough. In a few hours I'd leave and then it would be weeks before I'd get to see him again and I wasn't sure how I had lasted four years without him.

Sucking on my lower lip, I slid my palm down his stomach and wrapped my hand around his hip. He'd liked it last night when I stroked his hipbones, followed the angle of his V lines, and he'd like it now in the middle of sleep. His physical reply amused me: his restless stir, the way he burrowed his face into the pillows. It was cute, so I didn't stop, gingerly passing my fingertips across his hips. I liked the feel of his happy trail and lightly scratched at the thin line of hair. He hunched his shoulders, curling closer. My hand paused, unsure of what it was getting itself into, but when Craig settled back into a sluggish hump, I tentatively continued to rub the lowest parts of his stomach. It took my by surprise, then, when he suddenly shifted  _much_  closer and let out a quiet hum.

Eyes widening, I stared at the sheet covering us in the general direction of where my hand was located. The same hand with the fingers that had just barely slipped beneath the hem of his boxer-briefs. It was stupid and small and over exaggerated but my fingertips were  _in_  his pants. Would he be upset if I touched him? It seemed only fair after last night. And I'd be leaving today, so if I wanted to do anything, now would have to be the time to do it.

But I've wanted to for eight years and I've waited just as long. I remembered being little and naive, thinking that a kiss was all it would take. It was a time when the only thing I had wanted from Craig was just a kiss and I'd be set. That was all everyone ever did because that was all my parents did and the movies did it too. After I'd grown up and matured just as much, I'd learned that there was more to receive from someone else aside from their kiss. Thomas had always been more curious sexually—not in  _sexuality_ , but the physical aspect of the act—and during our mutual crushing over Craig, had given me other things to think about. Better things.

It had then become a time where a kiss wasn't the only thing I wanted. Up until he moved, I'd wanted everything. Any encounter I happened to have with him: passing back homework to his desk from the teacher, the small distance between his locker and mine that we'd go to at relatively the same time, those afternoons I would spend with Kenny where Craig and his friends showed up for a short moment—all I had ever thought about was what if he just pushed me against the wall and did whatever the hell he wanted to do to me?

I'd been selfish then—had gotten used to him always being there—because when he left, the only thing I ever wanted all over again was just a kiss. So I didn't want to be selfish again. Not when Craig would be gone just as quickly as the last time.

Before I could even  _accept_  this, Craig's groggy voice reached my ears. It was like a bomb siren. "Are you trying to cop a feel?"

Mortified, I snatched my hand back and spun around to face the other direction. The bed wobbled at my speedy turn. "Sorry... How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to feel you try to grope me," he grumbled.

He might've stretched or rolled around. All I heard was a lion's groan and then waves erupted in the mattress. It was another minute until his arm came around me and I felt the heat of his skin douse my back. "It's okay. I wouldn't have minded waking up with a boner." His voice rumbled against my ear, his chuckle settling far down into the pit of my stomach.

"You're so full of shit." Laughter tumbled from my lips. "I wasn't going to give you a boner."

"Oh, okay." He nodded into my hair. "So what were you doing?"

When my mouth opened, I thought something high-pitched and embarrassed sound would come out. I was expecting this lame stutter of an excuse. What came out instead was: "Kenny and I are going home today."

Craig didn't respond right away. It took him so long that I thought he might've fallen back asleep. His breath was even against my back, weight steady where his arm laid across my side. "Okay," he finally said. He pulled himself away from me and laid down on his back.

Uncertain, I peeked at him from over my shoulder. His blue eyes were staring up at the ceiling, impassive. "Craig?"

"Are you going to be okay sleeping by yourself?" I was baffled by his question.

"Y-Yeah. I do it all the time. It's just new places. They always s-scare me..." My explanation drifted off into an incomplete silence. "Why?"

There was a small lift to his lips. "It was fun taking care of you."

 _Yeah,_  I wished I could've said.  _I liked you taking care of me, too._  It was a care that he'd given that hadn't tried to bare down on me. A subtle care that provided gentle pushes and I believed that Craig was leading me in the right direction.

He was where I wanted to go.

* * *

And so leaving, it wasn't as hard the second time.

"You'll write me, right?" I just had to make sure.

Craig nodded. We were standing at the mouth of his room. He had one hand on the doorknob and I was leaning against his dresser. It was almost as tall as me. "Take a look out your window sometime. Maybe I'll send you a message with a blimp."

I bit the inside of my lip and smiled. "Find an ocean sometime," I echoed. "Maybe I'll send you a message in a bottle."

"Maybe I'll get a jet and jet stream you my number."

"Contrails," I quickly mumbled. He hummed in confusion. "Condensation trails. That's what a j-jet stream is."

His chuckle was light, distracted. Both of us were, I think. He looked away, took a breath, and then turned the handle. Before he could get very far, I tapped my knuckles in a soft succession against his dresser to add to our forms of communication. It was goodbye in morse code.

Craig paused, listening, but I wasn't sure if he understood. I did it one more time just to emphasize that it  _was_  morse code, that it was alright if he couldn't pick up on the meaning.

"Morse code?" When I nodded, he took me by surprise and leaned into me. Our lips brushed and my next breath echoed back against my mouth, pushed away by his own. "Bye, Tweek Tweak."


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

_Darling, please show your teeth_  
Just one more dance to help me sleep  
Whirl, cold water eyes  
Fill the past with friendly nights  
Human skin can be hard to live in

 _—_ Seabear, I Sing I Swim

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I reminisced and thought to myself that maybe our goodbye had effected Craig just a bit more than it had the first time. He'd been reluctant to say anything to me up until I'd already hugged everyone else, until he could avoid it no longer, and even then he'd stretched it out. I hadn't wanted to leave and maybe he hadn't wanted me to either. That possibility made waking up in my bed by myself a bit more bearable. It was weird that my bed didn't move at every slight shift. One night alone and my body felt cold beneath the sheets, unaccustomed to just my solo temperature after sharing Craig's for such a consistent number of days. Maybe he'd be thinking something similar when he woke up or went to sleep.

Thomas had managed to drag me out of bed, helped me complete my schoolwork and kept me company while I put in an afternoon shift at the coffeehouse. He never asked me for details on my stay at Craig's, wary of my parents always lingering around about as much as I was, but it was clear that his curiosity and expectancy were wearing him thin. I was positive that Kenny had at least hinted at what had happened between Craig and I because the looks I was receiving from him were ones of pure excitement. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he'd let my parents in on the scandal as well. Or maybe I wasn't hiding my hickeys very well, their calculative gazes ones of suspicion. Either that or their parental intuition was telling them that their son had gotten it on with a man. A sexy, sexy man.

The back of my head hit the wall as a groan tumbled helplessly from my lips. I was sitting at the kitchen table in Stan and Kenny's apartment. The two of them plus Thomas and Kyle who was on speakerphone were situated around the room: Kenny digging through the fridge for a drink, Thomas sprawled out across the couch, Stan caressing the phone containing his fiancé's voice as though it were a living thing. They were conversing about bachelor parties, both tentative to mention their actual wedding. It was cute except it had nothing to do with my current distress. My plan had been to wait until Thomas and I were completely alone to spill what I still had yet to believe.

It was beginning to hit me the more I thought about it and the more I thought about it the more I tried to remember how Craig had felt against my palm because what if that had been my only chance? What if I never saw him again for whatever reason?

A buzzing erupted inside my pocket. When I took my phone out and saw that I had a text message, I read it over and felt my lungs flutter. It was from Clyde's girlfriend and she was saying,  _What did you do to Craig? He's pretty much dead over here and I don't think he's coming back until you do._

Her and her Craig and Tweek Theory were resonating throughout my head. It was so simple—nothing more than that Craig and I were ultimately going to "end up" together—but I wanted to be pessimistic so bad, to be a realist. I just didn't see her theory coming true, or at least I hadn't. I still didn't, but...fuck.

"Something happened," I admitted, grabbing the attention of those in the room. All conversation grew suspended in the air at my interruption.

Kenny shut the refrigerator door, a can of soda in hand and a delighted smirk on his face. "I—"  _I've been home for nearly three days and this is all I can think about._ I ate dinner wishing it had been Craig ordering it for me, guessing what I'd like. I drank coffee that was good but it wasn't the generic kind in Craig's apartment. I showered and I wanted Craig to be there when I got out so he could say to me that he wanted me aroused.

My face crumpled pitifully. Stan set the phone down while Thomas raised his head up off the couch to sit up. Kenny leaned against the counter and sipped at his drink because this was no news to him. "Tweek?" Kyle sounded worried.

There was a smile on my lips that encompassed all of the inevitability of my feelings. This oblivious and yet knowing thing, it combined fear and happiness into a concoction that fed me and wilted me and excited me. "Do you guys have any idea what he's doing to me?" I squeaked, leeching off the churning emotion in my chest.

Stan's features softened in recognition. He grinned endearingly down at the phone, at Kyle. "I know exactly what he's doing to you," he murmured, a lilting undertone to his voice, "because I did it to Kyle and Kyle did it do me."

For a second I wondered what Kyle was doing upon hearing that or how he looked, and then he said "I love you," and I knew. I knew that he was smiling and he was happy and he was twisting his engagement ring on his finger because he'd taken to finding comfort in it quite quickly. I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever be able to say that to Craig. It wasn't a matter of him saying it back or him saying it to me at all, just that I could tell him and it could be that simple.

"He— _whoa,_  okay." This was hitting me all of a sudden and I remembered my orgasm and that immaculate limbo I'd been suspended in. "He—oh, God. Shit—fuck. You guys, he—" I was a whimpering mess. The tips of my fingers rubbed against my temples as my fast jumble of nonsense continued. I wasn't even talking to anyone in particular, I was just...why? Why had he done that to me? I wanted Craig back. I wanted to feel that again. I wanted  _him_  to feel it too because of me. "I—I don't know how it h-happened."

Thomas and Stan were exchanging eye contact while Kenny gave me a thumbs up and a very distinct hip thrust, but all I could do was stare at him and shake my head. He sighed dramatically and left absolutely no time for me to stop him as he told everyone exactly what was wrong with me— _exactly_ what had happened to make me act this way.

"Craig gave Tweek a hand job."

Kyle was silent on the other line, Stan's brows knit together, and Thomas lunged across the room to maul me. We toppled out of my chair and the first thing to hit the floor was my tailbone. I went rigid with pain and whimpered when Thomas practically screamed out his excitement right into my ear. He'd been waiting for this moment—not Craig and I, but for me to finally orgasm—so that we could talk about it because that's what my best friend loved to do. I wouldn't have to sit there listening to him anymore like I used to because now we could  _converse_. Oh, I couldn't wait.

From above the table I heard Stan ask Kenny if he was being serious. He didn't sound a fraction as happy as Thomas did and a small spark of anger flickered in the pit of my stomach. I scrambled up as quickly as I could with a sore butt, but I had no idea what I meant to do once I was standing there witnessing the unsure expression skimming Stan's face. Once he caught my movement, he turned that expression to me and I flinched at how ironic it was that he was certain of his uncertainty.

"You guys, what's going on? Why is it so quiet?" Kyle asked.

He wasn't going to get an answer for his question. I was going to get one for mine. "Why aren't you guys happy?" Thomas got up from the floor and put his chin on my shoulder, something of which I barely felt.

When Stan glanced away, I honestly felt slightly betrayed. If Kyle were here, I'm sure they would have given each other the same look that they would've understood and I wouldn't have liked. As a replacement, he gave it to the table instead, and that's when I realized that they've talked about this before. They've talked about me and Craig and about whether or not they agreed with the possibility of  _us_.

"I don't like him," Stan said, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. "You  _know_  that I don't. And I'm not going to trust him with you until he proves that he's selfless enough to give you what you need, alright?" It was because of the selfless comment, how similar it was to what Clyde's girlfriend had said, that I tried not to shut him out. "Because you're always going to need someone to take care of you, Tweek. That's just— _you_. You need a specific type of companionship, and I just don't believe that Craig's capable of that."

"But he  _does_  take care of me," I told him, all of them, in desperation. "I had a nightmare a-and he made sure that I was okay. He got my medication for me and he made sure that I ate and he went inside with me when I t-thought there was a murderer outside and he doesn't care about my t-tics or how medicated I am or that I have a f-fucking  _psychiatrist_." I didn't get why I was defending Craig like it mattered when I only ever thought about how this was some useless hope of mine. It was like in my head I tried to tell myself that it was never going to happen, but when I voiced it I tried to make it sound real. It was okay for  _me_  not to believe in optimism, but not anybody else, because I needed their encouragement. Or maybe I just didn't want to hear the truth, still stuck in my decade long infatuation.

"And I want to believe you," Stan said. "I want to think about Craig the same way I do my friends for  _you._  I want to hear you say these things about him and think 'oh yeah, of course, Craig's the perfect gentleman and he definitely deserves you,' but I can't." Except he had it wrong. It was the other way around.  _I_  didn't deserve  _Craig_. "I won't do it, Tweek. Not until something drastic happens and I am hoping so badly that it does because I will kill him if this hurts you."

"He—" My voice cracked and my vision blurred. It stung my eyes and it was embarrassing and I had to cover my mouth to keep from sobbing but I wasn't finished yet and I wanted Stan and Kyle to know how much it meant to me that Craig didn't care, to get their opinions past these other things that they thought. "H-He likes my stutter and he said it's  _okay_. He said that I have nothing to be ashamed of because it's just the way I handle things!" Thomas had to push down on my head to get me to sit down. My breath was catching and I was sniffling. "Nobody has _ever_  said that to me and it came from  _him_. It came from Craig and I was s-so  _happy_."

Someone gave me a tissue but I couldn't even see who it was. I just took it and thought it was giving me the go-ahead to unravel. My arms curled around each other on the table and I buried my head in them with the stupid tissue, crying and hiccuping over how taxing this confusion was and how I could possibly be so goddamn happy all over again just by remembering Craig. Thomas rubbed my trembling shoulders and that was enough to get me to let loose of a torrent of: "I like him so much, I like him so much, Thomas." And when I started laughing I had no clue. All I could do was multitask the fuck out of both with no comprehension of what was happening to me.

Once I began shutting down, sniffles and nothing more, a despondent feeling overtook me. Inside my body I felt deserted. I wanted Craig to be here and I imagined what he'd do if he was. He'd call Stan by his last name, hug Thomas because he's always liked my best friend's Tourette's, and make fun of Kyle for being a pubehead. He'd ignore Kenny because he's seen enough of him in Lakewood despite the blonde's constant absence.

That left me, and I think I knew Craig well enough to know that he'd draw me like this because he's never seen me cry before. And I'd let him.

Why couldn't people teleport?


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

_There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept._

―Ansel Adams

* * *

I've been having some of the strangest dreams lately. They were a necessity to me, could be turned into something tangible, and it wasn't often that scenarios would inhabit my head as I slept, but lately I've been having quite a few nighttime experiences. They've been insightful and informative in my subconscious but that was the only way that I could reach them because by the time I woke up they were gone. I was trying to tell myself something, something that I so clearly knew but ironically had no idea how to figure out.

Details that I thought I knew became these obscured blobs all wilted and incomprehensible. It happened every time I attempted to paint their reoccurring images. In my head I could see these things in such vivid clarity that it disturbed me when I couldn't recreate it on paper. It was like everything just went dumb, both my hands as well as my speech when I tried to describe what I managed to recall to others.

Many nights I only succeeded in splattering paint on my skin and staining the carpet while canvases supposed to contain an epiphany held nothing but blurred stuff like abstract bumblebees and sunflowers floating in ocean and algae, sometimes the silhouette of a black bird against the yellow sun. It was just hard because the moment I woke up with the dream fresh in my head, it would disclose itself somewhere far, far away just as quickly. And I would watch it recede slow and fast all at the same time, desperate to snatch just a fraction of it with my fingers because brushes would've taken too long to search for. And my paper that had once been much too small on the brink of awakening was suddenly much too large since forgetting so soon.

Not even my artistic intuition could decipher what these completely unintelligible  _things_  were supposed to be because I wasn't even sure if they  _were_  bumblebees and sunflowers or birds. I would stare at them distastefully, waiting for their vague masses to give me a clue as to why pink spots were dotted throughout the useless painting, why none of it made sense and yet it's been waking me prematurely every night. When Clyde saw them, he'd comment that I was losing my touch, and maybe I was. None of my professors liked what I was handing in but I couldn't blame them. All I wanted to draw was Tweek so that was where all of my effort went, but I wasn't about to share him with any of my teachers or classmates so I had started putting together halfassed shit just to keep my grades steady with enough time left over to occupy myself with more Tweek.

And honestly, I was just going to go ahead and admit it: I was borderline obsessed with this goddamn health nut. I liked to draw him in the seclusion of my room while eating salads with the dressing he'd helped Pretty Lady make. He was filling up a good portion of paper in ways Stripe never had because it wasn't just waking hours that I busied my time with him. It was just before sleep and during sleep and those times in-between I'd termed "sleep drawing". In the early mornings where at times I'm meant to be unconscious, I've been instead replicating him and grown sleep deprived because of it.

All of this―every single goddamn doodle and sketch and drawing and painting I've done since Tweek left―has been done near incoherently. On one unfortunate night I'd gotten the version of him, the one from the last night I saw him, stuck in my half-dead brain and that hadn't been good because I'd ended up drawing him on the cusp of orgasm so many times that―fuck, I'd let it get to me.

I'd been hysterical on this night when it happened, utterly lost to my surroundings and unaware of anything but the shape of his parted mouth on the paper and the tousled disarray of his damp locks. There were other details that I wanted to draw, wanted to see, but I could only guess. It was the feel of his fingers digging into my skin, his warm little palm cupping me for that short moment. I'd wished noise had a physical appearance as I sat there etching out the half-mast image of his eyes because I could hear him as I remembered those quiet sounds and soft mewls, the whimpers and my name on his tongue.

His thighs had been small in my hands, skin smooth and lips glistening. The featherlight touch he'd applied to my hips―I had been able to recall it so well, and I hadn't even realized it when my hand had gone limp, when I had quit drawing and only been able to see what was inside of my head. That night I'd been hunched forward, forehead leaning into my easel, fingers aching not for a brush or pencil, but as they reminisced his body and the state he'd been in, the one I'd touched and made feel.

Unfortunately for this particular Tucker, I don't know how I'd done it, but I had given myself more boners in a week than I have in an entire year.

Seriously, I just didn't know what to do with all of them. I was so tired of my seemingly uncontrollable abundance that I had them  _organized_. The first I beat off, the second I took a cold shower, the third I just let go until I went soft. That was the pattern I lived by as the days commenced. I just hoped I didn't doze off during the day and get a hard-on in the middle of class because number three had been my last erection.

To be honest, I had no idea how Clyde and Kenny handled them. They were masturbating _fiends_. It wasn't even that I didn't like them or didn't want one because it was a phenomenon when they did decide to appear in my life, but so fucking many after never having any was just strenuous on my body. And I was exaggerating the amount but it just felt like a lot, like too many and not enough energy in my body to amount to their remarkable quantity of numbers. A flood of boners―that's what was happening to me. I was being attacked by a never-ending flood of fucking boners.

Cure for erectile disfunction aside, by the next day I wouldn't even realize that I'd drawn him incoherently until I spot my pad of paper removed from beneath my bed or my sketchbooks open and laying on the floor. It was like I couldn't sleep at all, my brain too full of too much stuff for it to fit, and so to empty it out I'd taken to sleep drawing since ninety percent of that nonsense has been Tweek as well as numerous variations on the interpretation of that one dream. So many papers with Tweek's fucking face have been collected, cluttering up my space, that I had to ask Pretty Lady to help me organize the mass—not the mess, the _mass_. Two hands just didn't seem to be enough.

We were on the floor of my bedroom with piles of paper circling our bodies. They were the loose sheets that didn't belong to my sketchbooks or paper pads and there were a lot. When I'd first asked her for help, she hadn't been expecting such a massive clutter. Though she appeared unfazed, I didn't know if so many alterations of Tweek's face and facial features were creeping her out or not. I mean, he was everywhere front and back.

There were his sad eyes, ashamed eyes, glittering eyes, foggy, laughing, scared eyes. There were his lashes in the dark, bold and black, and then in the sun, scarce dusty blonde lashes catching the light. There was the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks sprinkled with a blush, and contrasting levels of paleness that varied whether or not he'd been caught, was worried, or frightened. There were the palms of his dainty hands cupping numerous pills or his little-knuckled fingers resting limply against my bed as he slept. There were his lips stretched into a smile, puffed out in a pout, shining after he wet them, swollen from the abuse of my mouth and teeth.

I had recorded the delicate shape of his skinny legs in different articles of clothing from tight black jeans, to crumpled blue jeans, to cutoffs that revealed his small calves and bony ankles. Sometimes I would sketch certain pairs of his boots that happened to catch my eye or a scarf I might've liked. And then there were the others where clothes weren't included at all. I'd carve the slender curve of his back or the bones of his hips into my paper. A few were of shadows catching his spine and ribcage. I wanted to emphasize the smooth texture of his skin in some.

As I looked them all over I remembered snippets like the softness of his hair and the slip of my fingertips over his lips. I wasn't going to say anything then and I wouldn't now but he would always turn his cheek into my hand whenever I got a feel for him. My mouth curled when I saw favorites of mine like the first portrait I ever did of him in my room, the same one the Julibeages had loved fetching for me now all chewed on at the corners and slobber-stained; the one of him sleeping with the dogs and this one from my most recent state of sleep drawing: a memory from the day we'd all eaten at IHOP where he was peeking up at me from the rim of his giant coffee cup. They'd fallen out of my sketchbook at some point to join these looseleaf ones on my floor for whatever reason inanimate objects had.

Pretty Lady held two papers in her hands, considering both before putting them down with the others. She'd wanted to look at them all before they got put away into folders, some of different sizes because at times I liked to work with larger sheets of paper or cut regular ones in half. "These are beautiful Craig," she said. The two she placed on the floor were newer ones that I'd slept drawn. Any older pieces had already been sifted through. I felt smug because I hadn't created the majority of these in the right state of mind and yet they were still attractive enough to compliment.

"Because they're of him," I told her simply. I was looking down at his nearly symmetrical face as he slept, the similar slope of his brows and identical placement of his eyes. He hadn't known I'd woken up, had barely even shifted in my absence, and I hadn't meant to draw him—I'd honestly just needed to use the bathroom—but the compulsion had been there when I re-entered the room, so of course I'd had to do it.

She glanced at me before picking up another drawing. "You think he's beautiful?"

"I think he's gorgeous." Tweek Tweak was definitely something else and it was nice whatever it was.

Her smile was mischievous, reminiscent of Kenny. Perhaps they were in league with each other. "Have you ever shown him these?"

I shook my head. The blonde actually hadn't seen much of anything that was related to my artwork. I've been too busy coddling him—ironically— _with_  my artwork for him to view any of it.

"You should," she suggested. "He'll like all of them."

Snorting, I asked, "He won't think I'm creepy and stay in South Park forever?"

The brunette girl laughed at my humor before surely stating, "I think he'll be flattered."

That didn't sound too bad. That actually sounded quite rewarding. "Flattered enough to suck me off?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't need to flatter him for that."

My brows rose in curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she said, "I don't know. Why don't you figure out the meaning of that dream of yours and maybe that'll help."

Well that was a low blow. I pursed my lips because that dream was still a phenomenon and the woman I lived with had just used it to take a stab at me. "Do you know something that I don't?"

"You poor, poor man," was all she said for a minute. During that minute I watched her shuffle through any remaining papers until she was finished. "What?" She finally asked. My obvious silence was her answer. "I know many, many things that I can't wait for you to realize."

Because I definitely needed her to be just as illusive as my goddamn dream. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I can't say anything to you because it will be so much sweeter if you do it on your own." She scratched her cheek to shake off my unrelenting stare.

"Dude," I huffed. "You fucking suck."

Her smile was excited. "Speaking of fucking, I put Tweek's number in your phone. So you should text him. Or call him."

Speaking of  _fucking_. "What?" I was so genuinely confused.

"It'll make his life knowing you finally got his number, okay? Just do it." She stood up from my floor and jumped across the piles before sneaking out my door, careful not to let the Julibeagles in.

I toppled over as gently as my beanstalk body could manage to keep from wrinkling any of Tweek's portraits. Closing my eyes, I tried to bring up any repetitive images from my dreams, specifically the ones I always tried to draw because they seemed to be the most important, but the only thing I could picture were my blurry interpretations of them. It really sucked having to do this—or at least _feeling_  the need to do so. Documenting dreams was one thing, and that was something I was good at, but analyzing was something else entirely, and I couldn't  _even_ document this one because the only thing that came from it were blobs when I  _knew_  that there was something more.

This was such a hassle. All I wanted to do with my life was raise my dogs, draw stuff, draw Tweek, and continue to be best friends with Clyde and Token. None of this other stuff was necessary. This dream shit and Pretty Lady suddenly saying weird stuff and Kenny having to come over every time Tweek did. That last one wasn't even of grave importance but it still added to my turmoil.

Dejected—lately I've spent so much time on my dream that by now I thought it was useless to ponder on it for too long—I rooted around in my pocket for my phone and lifted it in front of my face. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Tweek's name, a thing of which I noticed I kind of liked being there, and debated on calling or texting. It'd be fun to mess with him. Maybe I could pretend to be the murderer he'd worried over the night before he left.

Instead, I held my phone against my ear and waited for him to answer. It was later in the afternoon, so hopefully he wasn't busy. After the line continued to ring, I thought about hanging up but then I imagined Tweek throwing his phone across the room at the call of an unknown number and decided not to be too hasty.

I'd just gotten through a few verses of a 1980's Genesis song when someone picked up and it definitely wasn't Tweek. From afar I heard, "You're such a baby." Their voice was smoother, more controlled. To the phone, they said, "Hello?"

"Hey. You should give the phone to Tweek."

"I would, but Tweek's too busy being a puss—" In the background Tweek clearly said the name Thomas in a scolding manner.  _No fucking way._  "Dude, Thomas! Tourette's Thomas?"

"Yeah," the guy confirmed curiously. This was like the best day of my life. I  _loved_  this kid back in South Park. "Who's this?"

Sitting up, I exclaimed, "It's Craig! I did your laundry on multiple occasions, remember?"

There was practically an explosion from the other side of the phone. " _Craig_ , yeah! Of course I— _bitch_ —remember!" Oh God, I loved him so much. He was still so cool.

"Thomas, give me the phone," Tweek ordered. A scuffling sound followed shortly after.

"You got  _cute!_ " Thomas confessed.

I could see the two of them scuttling around a room I've never seen before, one trying to keep the phone, another desperate to take it back. "Yeah?" I laughed. "I'll bet you got cute, too. You should send me a picture sometime."

" _Oh,_ " he exaggerated at his friend's expense. "You mean nudes? I'll  _definitely_  be sending some to you."

"Thomas!" Tweek's screech was vicious. I'd never seen him angry before and I wondered how the light played in his eyes when he was.

"Hey, calm down," Thomas consoled. I felt a punchline coming on. "When I get some back I'll be sure to share them with you."

Everything was silent for a moment and I  _really_  wish I could've been there to see Tweek's expression. "Thomas," he finally threatened coldly. "Give me the fucking phone."

Sighing, Thomas relented with a mournful, "Bye Craig. Maybe some other time."

Before speaking, Tweek took a deep breath that I don't think he knew I heard. Thomas was giggling, encouraging him to bring up the nudes exchange. Once he let his breath out, his anger along with it, he squeaked into the phone a barely audible: "Hi, Craig."

He could be so endearing. "You're cute," I teased. When he started sputtering, I added, "How have you been?"


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

_Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art._

—Leonardo Da Vinci

* * *

"What are we doing for Halloween?" Clyde asked. And just because he'd said that, I put a ghost next to my doodle of Tweek and gave him a terrified expression. I would've given him a bulky pillowcase except I didn't see the blonde trusting house owners enough to believe they wouldn't poison their candy.

"Oh, yeah." Token realized what holiday was approaching, pausing to sip from his glass of orange juice. "Halloween's next week, right?"

Clyde nodded his head, sliding a piece of pop-tart between his lips before speaking around the crumbs. "I've heard a lot of people talking about costumes but no parties. Thoroughly disappointing if you ask me. Halloween parties are the best."

My best friends contrasted so greatly. I honestly had no clue how I'd ended up with the two of them.

"That's called a costume party," I reminded him. "Anybody can throw one any time of the year."

He huffed at me, upset that I'd ruined his point. "But a  _Halloween_  costume party only comes once a year, asshole. Where's your holiday spirit?"

My eyes parted with my sketchbook for what felt like the first time today. I looked around quite literally. "Somewhere around here." Returning to my sketch of—here comes a shocker—Tweek, I continued with: "What if I painted all of our faces this year?"

"Only if my woman gets to be a squirrel."

Clyde's condition was relatively accurate, causing me to smirk. "I'm thinking something more like chipmunk. You two can match."

"What am I going to be?" Token asked, and I actually had to contemplate before answering.

"Gorilla." He gave me a humorless stare from across the room. "I'm just fucking with you," I snickered. "You can be an elephant and I'll make your arm the trunk."

"I know what else can be a trunk," Clyde sniggered with a coy wink.

"Hell yeah," I agreed. "Token, you should totally let me paint your penis."

This suggestion of mine brought a torrent of laughter from my brunette best friend. It was kind of ridiculous because it hadn't been that funny, but whatever he was imagining in his head must've been doing something for him. "Yeah, dude! Think you could suck some peanuts up with that thing?" He was too busy laughing at his own joke to realize Token and I exchanging disturbed glances.

We tried to ignore him after that. Even went as far as to ditch him while he was in the bathroom, effectively forcing him to walk to our college by himself.

* * *

One of my classes in particular was being a troublesome thing lately. My teacher had assigned us a project that was supposed to be inspired by fear and I couldn't help but figure that this man had stolen my Halloween spirit because he usually wasn't into seasonal projects. Every once in a while he liked to test our creativity, so we were allowed free rein with the concept and creation of our individual fears that made us unique as individuals. A few of my classmates had really taken to the idea and were constructing sculptures or carving pumpkins that they would then enter in jack-o-lantern contests that gave away cash prizes.

Their progress over the past couple of days has been intriguing to me and I wished I could receive a grade for overseeing their work since this project just wasn't working out for me like it was them. I've been unable to do much of anything for too many reasons: I was tired, my dream was still being a nuisance—the color scheme blue, green, yellow, black, and a hint of pink was always ticking off in my head—all I could focus on was Tweek, and I just didn't  _fear_  things.

After viewing some of the fears bustling around the classroom, I've come to the conclusion that if I died, I died. I didn't fear death. I've bungee jumped before, so I'd be overwhelmed, but I didn't fear heights. If I was dropped into a tank of roaches, I'd probably just lay there because what were they going to do? Survive a nuclear bomb, that's what. Roller coasters were awesome. I welcomed the dark. If I had the chance to be a ghost hunter, I would. Natural disasters happened because that was the way the earth worked. The whole mirror in the dark thing had become nothing to me after I'd reached the age of eleven.

I was just sitting there while everyone else was working diligently. They were excited about this project while on my paper labeled  _ideas_  I had absolutely nothing. There was a scribble in the corner, but I had just been testing out my new pen to see if it worked. I mean, I was terrified of losing my best friends or my dogs and before that the fear at the top of my one-bulleted list had been Stripe's death. Once that had presented itself, fear had just honestly ceased to matter. Every goddamn day I wished that I existed in Steven King's  _Pet Cemetery._  I'd bring back that fear and be tormented by the idea every day if I could just have my guinea pig back. But that never happened and the universe didn't stop for anyone.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I found the number of the person who seemed to be my only source of inspiration and held the phone to my ear. Now that he knew it was me when I called, Tweek had begun to answer on the third ring religiously. I wondered if it was just me he did this with, or if it was everyone, or if he even noticed at all, and if he did, was it a compulsion or coincidence? I meant to ask him every time I called, but every time I'd forgot whenever he picked up.

" _Hi,_ " Tweek greeted. He was always unusually chipper whenever I called.

"Hey." We paused unanimously for a second, a second of which I always gave him so he'd have the option of starting a conversation although he never did. That was  _my_  job, I'd noticed. "So I'm in class—"

"Then you shouldn't be on the phone with me."

Ignoring him, I continued saying, "And this project really fucking sucks, dude. I need your help."

"Oh," he chirped, suddenly okay with me calling. "W-What do you need help with?"

One elbow on the table, I twisted my torso and stretched my other toward the ceiling, clicking the butt of my pen while saying, "I need to do something with my fears and I'm kind of short on those, so you should tell me some of yours to give me ideas."

Tweek started snorting on the other line like a little piglet. "You have a fear of morning wood, remember? Just draw a giant boner."

My smirk was sly. "Are you insinuating that my penis is giant?"

"What— _no!_ " His cry was mortified. "No—I—What? I wasn't—that isn't—"

"What are you doing?" I asked, interrupting his incoherent babble.

I listened as his breath hitched. "Huh?"

"Tell me what you're doing. It's the afternoon. You're doing something, aren't you?" It was a tactic I'd begun using to get him to calm down whenever I happened to frazzle him. He liked to tell me things he knew, and the things he knew were the things he did. They were things he was sure about and didn't have to second guess.

"I'm working," he said before going into an explanation. "O-Or I'm on my break, I mean." Sometimes it took him a while to shake off his nerves. "My dad made a really good pumpkin spice latte. I h-haven't been able to stop drinking them."

"Yeah?" He gave a pleased  _mhmm_  and I could see him sitting in a booth at his coffeehouse with some orange drink topped with cream and sprinkled with cinnamon or nutmeg. I began to doodle what I saw in my head onto my idea paper. "That sounds gross."

"You don't like coffee?"

"Fuck no. Clyde chugs it to wake himself up and that's about as involved as it gets in my life."

He made a short sound before saying, "I can change that." For the first time, he'd sounded confident in himself, but that was just something I couldn't have. Before I could say anything to counter his certainty, because I was  _not_  going to get into coffee, he resumed our previous topic of conversation. "So what kind of fears are you looking for? Because I have a lot."

Frowning, I looked down at my nearly blank paper. "All of them."

Tweek was most likely rolling his eyes. "Okay. Well" —he considered what was probably all of his fears in the next moment— "I'm scared of porcelain dolls and bomb sirens and pictures of space and the idea of space and pictures of the ocean and the idea of the ocean and electrocution so that's why I turn off all the electricity during lightning storms and spare change especially pennies because of the whole heads and tails thing and pi scares the shit out of me because the number never ends and supposedly there's some machine that keeps printing numbers and how does that machine even  _know_? How did Einstein know? How did Greek philosophers know? What is language? How do we understand each other? I heard that one out of every ten people you pass is a ghost and that just blows my mind. The subconscious scares me and fears scare me and the body's ability to withstand pain scares me and adrenaline!"

All I could do was laugh. It was boisterous and loud and repetitive and I honestly felt like Token had taken over my body for about five minutes because I just couldn't stop. Tweek was catching his breath and that just made it even better because he'd gotten so involved with what he was telling me that he hadn't even paused to breathe. He'd winded himself. Obviously asphyxiation wasn't a fear of his and then I started laughing even harder at my own stupid joke. There were tears in my eyes and my class was staring at me, some _laughing_  at me because my laugh was so ridiculous, and it just kept coming.

"You—" I tried to say, but my voice caught on my laughter and I had to burry my face in the crook my elbow to get it all out before trying again. "You are so adorable, dude." And I was dead scared of ever laughing like that again so maybe I'd be able to incorporate that into my project somehow. God, I'd sounded like my dad when he watched his favorite movie: White Chicks. I don't know what it was about black cops turning into white bitches but that was the only way to make him laugh.

"C-Craig? Are you okay?" Tweek asked, but he sounded more amused than he was worried.

"Yeah, I'm good." My professor checked the time and dismissed the class, pointing at me with his pencil from across the room to let me know that he knew I'd done nothing the entire class period. As I gathered my sparse belongings, I told the blonde, "Just got a little carried away there. Hey, when is your break over?"

" _Umm_ —it can be over whenever I want it to be." In my head he was grinning because of course he decided his own breaks and shifts and hours. He worked for his parents after all.

Exiting the classroom, I started down a set selection of spacious hallways that would take me to the front of the building where I'd meet with Clyde and Token. "Then you should stay on the phone with me a little longer."

"Okay." I could tell that he was flattered by the shy quality of his voice. "What are y-you doing?"

"I'm on my way home right now, but since Token and I ditched Clyde this morning, I'd rather not have to listen to him whine the entire way back."

The blonde _ahh_ ed as though he understood. "So I'm just your distraction? That's all I'm good for anymore?"

Oh, we could definitely play this game. "Yeah, pretty much. Just when you're not here."

"Wow. I should hang up and make you listen to Clyde whine for fifteen minutes." Obviously he could play too.  _Touché._

"Or you could ignore my asshole tendencies and  _not_  do that." When I stepped outside, Token and Clyde were already waiting for me. I was surprised Clyde hadn't talked Token into ditching me as payback.

The brunette—confused that I was actually talking on the phone for once in my life—asked, "Who's that?" He leaned in close as we started home to hear the answer to his own question.

"Well maybe I want to be an asshole for once,"  _even though you were an asshole when you decided to pass out while I had a boner_  "and make you suffer all by yourself." _I did suffer all by myself because you made me lay with you while I had a boner._

"Is that Tweek?" I nodded my head and pushed his face away. Grumbling, he relented and took up a spot at Token's side.

"Was t-that Clyde?"

"Yes. Now show me mercy and—"

"Nope," he chirped. Just before hanging up on me.

I took my phone from my ear, looked down at it, and nodded my head, clucking my tongue. "Okay. Alright. We'll see about that, you little shit."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

_A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened._

—Albert Camus

* * *

And then one day—oh, one day it snuck up on me.

I was laying on the couch in the living room, a beagle at my head and another at my feet, jotting down words that creeped me out in the hopes of igniting some type of hidden fear inside of me. So far I had things like: milking, rim job, testes, and tinkle. My fears seemed to be of the sexual kind, I guessed.

I'd been contemplating my project for so long that I lost myself for a moment and when I returned to focus I saw  _blue, green, yellow, black_  scribbled around the paper and was in the midst of adding pink. They weren't colors that I was scared of, just ones that stalked me relentlessly. It wasn't that I even cared about this project so much as I was just using it to disregard my stupid dream, although clearly it wasn't working as I'd hoped.

There was just something that I wasn't getting. Some vital detail that brought everything together. It was floating around in my subconscious—wherever the hell that was—invisible to the forefront of my conscious and separate from the things that I actually knew without having to search. This dream was a knowledge that I couldn't reach and yet I liked to tease myself with it. It was abusive toward my curiosity, but I couldn't stop. I wanted to be aware, to remove this sense of obliviousness, except it was difficult and I couldn't fathom why.

All I could gather was that the colors happened to correspond with Tweek and I. There was blue for my eyes and green for his; there was yellow for his hair and black for mine. Pink for his blush, maybe? He  _had_  been lodged inside my head for an unreasonable amount of time, so it only made sense. But what did it  _mean_? If that was even correct. If that was the way I was supposed to go with my dream.

Perhaps all of those blobs in my paintings weren't bumblebees and sunflowers. Maybe I was thinking too much into understanding my dream, when the only thing I needed to do was realize it. Because I did already know whatever I was trying to tell myself. The only thing left to happen was an epiphany. The probability of that actually happening was most likely very low seeing as it's been a week and no enlightenment has presented itself to me. There was a possibility that I was too tired to have an epiphany. Waking up regularly in the middle of the night was expected now and waking up in the morning with sore hands from drawing all night has left me with a drained brain and exhausted fingers.

Because of that, it wasn't unusual for me to space out and doodle almost as thoughtlessly as I did while sleep drawing.

In my head I was remembering those first couple of days.

Pages of my sketchbook were becoming a timeline as I thought of all these things and recorded them even though I was sure they were already in my room somewhere with all of the others. Even when repeating images and instances with Tweek I was enthralled. My scribbling was rough and hazardous to the paper when I favored a particular line in Tweek's features for too long or turned to the next page too sharply. I was just recalling so much and I had to get it all down. Something about this was important. Somewhere in all of these crude sketches was an inkling and I was picking at it like you would a scab because it _needed_  to come off.

Tweek had been so nervous to reacquaint with me that I'd given up on caring about why Kenny had brought him to me at all. He'd been so sad for reasons I still didn't know, and his level of honesty hadn't been characteristic I don't think. I knew personal information about him  _from_  him. We weren't best friends. It wasn't like so many years had passed and the truth was finally ready to come out. No, there was a distinct reason why he was so open with me. There was a reason why he blushed when I got too close or said certain things. His heart had beat so fast when I'd fallen asleep on him on the couch and he'd lit up after I'd kissed him.

It was peculiar how Pretty Lady liked to question me about the blonde, but nothing like whether or not I thought he was an okay dude or if I minded him and Kenny always stopping by. She wanted to know if I thought he was cute, what I thought of our kiss. She had read all of our letters and constantly suggested that he come back soon. It was suspicious behavior like she was trying to get me somewhere or push me in a specific direction.

From what felt like the background, as though I were the only one in focus and everything around me was blurred nonsense, Clyde laughed and said, "Dude, I think Craig's having a brain blast over there." Despite hearing him, his words didn't register and the only thing I could think was that my opinion mattered to Tweek. On his second visit he'd been so distraught at his own compulsive reaction to falling face first into the couch. He'd been embarrassed and disappointed in himself but had allowed me to fix it. He'd listened to me because he cared about what I thought and he'd tried to reshape his own feelings toward himself to mimic mine.

I recalled times where he'd stepped a little farther out of his puny little shell, times where he'd openly admit to aspects of me being admirable like my chub when I ate too much, that he thought I was cute, and times when he'd  _let_  me get close to him. And this was because he was comfortable with me. Tweek was a person who picked and chose those who would surround him and he'd selected  _me_  as one of them. That was saying something—I  _know_  it was—but for the love of God I wasn't even making sense to myself between my furious scribbling and racing mind.

And what was up with Kenny informing me about all of Tweek's quirks? Kenny was practically _giving_  him to me, had been the entire time. I knew exactly which pocket of his bag contained his medication. I knew exactly how to calm him down from a nightmare and what pill to give him. That next morning he'd stayed awake while I slept. There was a time shortly after where I had caught him sizing me up which was acceptable because he was gay and I was a good looking guy, but there it was again, this hidden fact inside my subconscious that nagged at me and nagged and nagged and nagged. There's been a fondness in his eyes more than once and he couldn't lie to me without telling me the truth immediately after. He chose to sleep with me, chose to cuddle with me, chose to stay in my bed when I left for work, and he'd chosen to kiss me again.

Tweek had let me in. I knew what cleared his head, I knew what made him laugh, I knew what made him blush, I knew what made him feel better, I knew how to take care of him. There was so much information that he held so close that he'd decided to share with me, that Kenny had decided to share with me also. They wanted me to know this mental side of Tweek almost as if it were some type of test. Kenny wanted to see if I could handle him. If I could take care of him. If I could overlook his fragility. If I was capable of removing his issues from the equation entirely because anxiety, paranoia, and prescribed pills weren't the only things that made up Tweek Tweak as a human.

And then I began replaying snippets from past conversations and I wondered if things were beginning to make sense.

_"Do you have a boyfriend?" He tripped over the sidewalk as we made it to the other side. The apartment complex parking lot was one block away. I could see the green framed rooms and the customary granite staircases just ahead._

_"N-No," he coughed, rubbing his cheek nervously. Was his reaction one of anxiety or paranoia? Maybe both. I understood why he was so sketchy now._

_"Have you ever had one?" Tweek nodded, causing me to look at him for the answer. "What happened?"_

_His cheeks grew warm. "He was jealous, got mad at me, a-and broke up with me." This guy was suspiciously open for being a medicated mess. I wanted to see how nosy I could be before he shut his mouth, so I asked why. The blonde smiled bitterly and I spotted some of that reoccurring sadness pull at his naturally drawn features. "He told me that I was t-too hung up on a stupid crush over s-someone else. That it wasn't fair."_

_When I asked who he'd ruined a relationship over, his answer was immediate. "I'm not telling you."_

His cockblock crush was the only thing he was secretive about. He wouldn't confide in me, not then and not in any of the other circumstances where this person was brought up. This illusive, mystery man that was probably imaginary for all I knew. Maybe Tweek was embarrassed that his dream dude wasn't real, and that was why he didn't want to tell me.

_"He's a bit of a germaphobe, but it's not a severe case of OCD. Not like his other compulsions. You should see him in a motel room. You're lucky that he knows you guys, otherwise he wouldn't be handling any of this as well as he is."_

_"He told me pretty easily," I mused, referring to our conversation over the phone a few days prior. I wasn't sure if Kenny knew that I knew about the general overview of Tweek's medication._

_"That's because," the blonde began, sifting through a couple of bags on the kitchen table that must've belonged to either of them, "you're different."_

I'll bet I was fucking different alright. Different enough to get permission into this kid's nut job life for apparently being classified  _as_  "different". Different as in douche bag maybe, but entrusting me with one's mental issues wasn't something that anyone did  _because_  of that. Clyde didn't even trust me with his phone because he knew I would take pictures of my dick from weird angles and transfer his girlfriend's nudes to my phone in exchange, which would then circulate to Token who would give them back to Clyde because the brunette would cry when I fucked with him. His tears made my apathetic dickhole self  _happy_.

_"I'm not sitting in the bed."_

_"You sound so sure about that," Kenny sniggered._

_Tweek had just enough time to glare at him before Pretty Lady said, "I suppose I could trade my spot in the truck for the one in the bed if you kiss Craig again." His features were utterly blank for a moment, though his blood knew just how to react. A blush burst across his cheeks, and he must've felt the heat, because his eyes widened suddenly. The color in his face brought out their lovely green hue. I wanted to paint him in that instant and knew that when I did get the chance to do so, he'd be blushing when I did. I'd make him if I had to. I'd sit at my easel naked just as long as it got his cheeks to turn that exact shade of bubblegum pink._

_He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His lips looked nice, full and shapely in their state of shock. It was a good emotion on him, I decided. My gaze moved to settle on Clyde's girlfriend who was grinning slyly. "You planned this," I accused her, suspicious of what she was trying to gain. Did she have some secret homosexual fetish that we didn't know about?_

_"I wouldn't say planned." Her grin grew more sinister. "I just saw an opportunity and took it."_

But that hadn't been an opportunity she'd seen. Pretty Lady knew things that were too precise for an introverted Craig Tucker to access. She had implied her knowledge the entire time and was _leading_  me—it—I didn't know—somewhere. God, that hadn't been an opportunity at all. It'd been a secret she'd known and taken advantage of.

_Pretty Lady asked me another question, something she seemed to be full of tonight. "Are you going to miss him?"_

_This time I couldn't shrug away my response. "A little, probably. I don't want to screw myself over again just because he's not here." But I got used to drawing him, and I liked to draw him, and he ended up being the only thing I wanted to draw, so when I couldn't anymore, it was like my talent became useless._

_"He misses you, too."_

This was the kind of stuff that she knew. She sorted through it all and gave me bits and pieces of what she thought would nudge me wherever it was I was ultimately going. Things like Tweek  _missed_  me. I was supposed to gather something from that. A hint from that goddamn woman who refused tell me outright what was going on.

_"Have you kissed at all since I bribed him into doing it the other day?"_

_Now I knew she was trying to get at something. "Nope." She was disappointed in this, and I was suspicious._

_For a minute she fumbled with one of the bags in her lap. "Do you think you might?"_

_"I really haven't thought about it." My eyes narrowed as I turned into our apartment complex._

_"Oh. Okay." She said nothing more as I parked the car, got out, and was equally silent all the way up the stairs. It was at the door where we shared matching amounts of dinner and beverage that, as we attempted to kick the door down, she suggested, "Maybe you should."_

And so I had, although I couldn't be sure whether I'd done it on my own terms or because I'd been inspired by her advice. What got me was that Tweek had reciprocated even though he was supposed to have it out for this cockblock crush. Essentially he was cheating in his own head, kissing me while he was eternally smitten with some other guy. There was a part of that which just felt odd, not that he liked someone else but  _who_  that someone was.

I had never minded that he clearly wanted to get all hot and bothered by another dude. Caring in general about something like that wasn't even necessarily a part of my character, but still. I'd never once doubted that this person had anything on me, and maybe that was because I  _didn't_  have anyone to compete against.

_"Then get a boyfriend." He questioned me like he hadn't heard me. "Get a steady boyfriend that lives out here and they won't think anything of it." But Tweek was prude because he only had eyes for one guy. "Your cockblock crush might not like it and your boyfriend might not like it because you'll be hanging out with me all the time but—"_

_Tweek started laughing this light, whimsical sound. His cheeks were tinged pink. "Just shut up, Craig. That idea's stupid."_

_I leaned back against the wall, mission accomplished. "It's a foolproof idea, dude."_

_"Shut your mouth," he ordered. There was something flirtatious about the way he was grinning at me, all cheeky and such._

_"You can't possibly be a slut when you're strictly a one-man type of a guy," I continued._

Because that's exactly what he was. Tweek was  _indefinitely_  a one-man type of guy.

But how did that explain why he'd been kissing  _me_? That meant something. Everything meant something. I was someone and this cockblock crush was someone and it was getting harder to tell the difference between the two of us.

_"You never kissed your boyfriend?"_

_"What?" He asked quickly, blinking rapidly._

_"You said you've kissed a girl but not a guy. You've had a boyfriend, though. You just never kissed him?" I didn't blame him for breaking it off with Tweek if that was the case. He couldn't even kiss someone who wasn't his cockblock crush? Even when "someone" was his boyfriend?_

_Except he'd let_ me _kiss him._

_Maybe he was over it. Maybe that boyfriend of his had been years ago and he's realized since then that holding out for some unrequited crush was useless. He's just never gotten with another man since._

_Whatever it was, it was too complicated for my simplistic way of thinking and suddenly I wished I hadn't even brought it up._

_"I lied," he blurted out. There was guilt and apology in his expression, so blatantly obvious that I didn't have to draw him to know what it was. "I—I did it so I could— I just wanted to kiss you, okay?" His palm thumped again his forehead and he peeked at me from around his wrist. "It—I—uh, God. I didn't meant to lie! I'm so sorry for lying b-but it just h-happened, you know?" Mood switching violently to desperation, he murmured, "You wouldn't have done it otherwise."_

_This guy was a riot. Obviously he didn't know who Craig Tucker was because if something was going to happen, Craig Tucker always found a way to make it happen whatever the circumstance._

_"Yeah, I would've."_

I mean,  _obviously_  I had been destined to kiss Tweek Tweak...or maybe  _he'd_  been the one destined to kiss  _me_. Kenny had brought him to me to let it happen because Kenny was like the universe and placed people where they needed to go and when.

Sighing irritably, I rubbed at my face with my free hand. Even making a joke out of this didn't help me understand.

_"Have you ever shown him these?"_

_I shook my head. The blonde actually hadn't seen much of anything that was related to my artwork. I've been too busy coddling him—ironically—_ with _my artwork for him to view any of it._

_"You should," she suggested. "He'll like all of them."_

_Snorting, I asked, "He won't think I'm creepy and stay in South Park forever?"_

_The brunette girl laughed at my humor before surely stating, "I think he'll be flattered."_

_That didn't sound too bad. That actually sounded quite rewarding. "Flattered enough to suck me off?"_

_"Don't be ridiculous. You don't need to flatter him for that."_

Oh fucking really. I wanted to rip out all of the pages of my sketchbook and eat them I was getting so worked up over this. Who the hell told somebody that in order to get Tweek to suck one off that one doesn't even need to flatter the guy? I think it was common courtesy to at least compliment a person before putting a dick in their mouth; the worst being "You'll look good with my dick in your mouth," but at least it was something. Supposedly I didn't even need to tell the blonde anything to stick it in. I could just go up to him and do it.

Was Clyde's girlfriend a retard or something?

_My brows rose in curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

_Shrugging her shoulders, she said, "I don't know. Why don't you figure out the meaning of that dream of yours and maybe that'll help."_

_Well that was a low blow. I pursed my lips because that dream was still a phenomenon and the woman I lived with had just used it to take a stab at me. "Do you know something that I don't?"_

_"You poor, poor man," was all she said for a minute. During that minute I watched her shuffle through any remaining papers until she was finished. "What?" She finally asked. My obvious silence was her answer. "I know many, many things that I can't wait for you to realize."_

_Because I definitely needed her to be just as vague as my goddamn dream. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

_"It means I can't say anything to you because it will be so much sweeter if you do it on your own." She scratched her cheek to shake off my unrelenting stare._

_"Dude," I huffed. "You fucking suck."_

_Her smile was excited. "Speaking of fucking, I put Tweek's number in your phone. So you should text him. Or call him."_

Speaking of _fucking_? Is that what she just said to me? _"What?" I was so genuinely confused._

_"It'll make his life knowing you finally got his number, okay? Just do it."_

I was concentrating on everything all at once. The hand job, his orgasm, how he liked tall guys with hands bigger than his own and hips; how he'd asked if we could do that all the time, and how he hadn't wanted to leave this last time or any of the other times, and I was positive that all he could think about in South Park was when he would come back to Lakewood, and how happy he always sounded every time I called, and  _He told me that I was t-too hung up on a stupid crush over s-someone else_  and  _He misses you too_  and  _I just wanted to kiss you, okay?_ and  _I know many, many things that I can't wait for you to realize_  and _It'll make his life knowing you finally got his number, okay?_

On my final sketch I was scribbling fastidiously this make-believe guy that would've been Tweek's boyfriend. He was the type of guy I imagined the blonde going for. I just wasn't sure about the specifics besides tall, big hands, and hips. Would his hair be brunette with a faux hawk kind of cut? Was his build masculine in comparison to Tweek's dainty figure? Did he have hazel eyes and long lashes? Were his lips thin or shapely? Was he the type of guy that would be suspected as being gay or was his sexuality a surprise? Maybe Tweek liked feminine guys and guys with soft hearts and someone who played sports or was a piano more attractive to him?

Facial features, bone structure, body statures, hair and color and appearance were funneling through my head. A whirlwind of all the potential guys Tweek might be interested in jam packing my brain but none of them were working and it was too much and yet my pencil was still going and maybe this was some crazy out of body experience or maybe my subconscious was finally releasing knowledge into the forefront of my brain and maybe I was understanding and maybe this was my epiphany moment because I was most definitely drawing someone next to Tweek and I knew right then that it was his cockblock crush he's had it out for, the one he wouldn't tell me about because it was me. I was the cockblock crush and I was drawing _myself_.

And then suddenly:

_"You have a crush on Spiderman."_

_"What? I—yeah, okay. Maybe a small one." Clyde rolled off the couch whining about being stuck with such a gay fuck, and when his girlfriend commented that she found it cute, his whimpers grew more heightened._

_"So that's who your cockblock crush is? The one your boyfriend broke up with you over?"_

Not to mention that punching me in the genitals was totally flirting.

_Tweek eased me to the ground...He was trying to make it up to me by saying, "I can't believe you just let me do that. You deserve to be Spiderman. You're Spiderman, Craig. I'm sorry for calling you Mary Jane. I'm s-so sorry, Craig."_

...Oh.

When I thought of drawing, I thought of myths and fables and fairies because fairies were capable of this thing called a glamour. It was like a second skin almost. It showed the eye what it wanted to see, not what was really there. And people with an ability called sight could see through this glamour just like how I could see what was underneath personal barriers. I saw it and I drew it. People couldn't hide from me; Tweek couldn't hide from me. Because I knew. I knew that I was the guy he's been obsessed with.

I sprang from the couch and catapulted myself across the room to where Token and Clyde were eating at the kitchen table. At my abrupt movement the Julibeagles took off running and barking, chasing each other around in their excitement while similarly I could barely contain myself.

"I'm the cockblock crush!" I announced, positive that I was making no sense, but that was alright, because my two best friends were about to understand everything just as I had.

Both of them turned their heads to look at me, confused as they watched me fumble around with the dogs to get over to them. When I reached the table, I slammed my sketchbook down hard enough to rattle their plates. It was open to the first section of the timeline I'd spontaneously crafted. Clyde shoveled more food into his packed mouth as I insisted they pay attention because I was about to blow their minds.

"You guys need to look at this." Token complied, paying close attention as I pointed to the very beginning. "I just solved a mystery and it's crazy." Clyde set his fork down and sat back in his chair grumpily. "That dream I've been having? The one I've been trying to figure out?" They nodded their heads. "I did it." I reflected on my smug excitement and thought of all the ways I could use this crush of Tweek's for things that were going to be a lot of fun for me. "I'm going to have such a field day with this."

"I don't get it. What am I looking at?" Clyde asked impatiently, staring at his food longingly.

"Just flip through the pages," I explained, nudging my sketchbook closer to the two. They began inspecting Tweek's arrival from the very beginning. "I just started thinking about it, Tweek I mean, and all of these little hints and pieces and things Kenny and Pretty Lady would say. This explains why Tweek acts the way he does around me. Why Kenny found me—it wasn't us, it was  _me—_ and brought him here. Everything makes sense now."

Even in South Park I could remember times where we'd cross paths, the way he'd ogle at me or blush and hide away inside himself when I happened to pop up at Kenny's house. That had been  _years_  ago, though. What was this poor kid doing however many years later stuck in the same infatuation with me? His only boyfriend had broken up with him because of me and I hadn't even been _living_  there at the time. We had never talked, only ever hung out when Kenny was around, and maybe had one class together throughout high school. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to think of that exactly, but I could deduce that he was pretty goddamn loyal to this crush he's had on me.

 _How long has this been going on? Who else knows about it? Have the people I used to know in South Park always known me as the guy Tweek Tweak has a crush on and not as the guy whose best friends were the gentleman and the stud?_  No wonder Stan and Kyle never liked me! All this time I never thought they'd had a valid reason, but oh man, they fucking did. They had a good ass reason. I was the one guy nobody should ever like. I couldn't reciprocate. The chances of getting hurt and rejected or just outright ignored were extremely high.

Token glanced up at me, an amused expression on his face. Just as it dawned on me that he's known—this entire time he's known just like everybody else and no one had bothered to tell me—Clyde reeled backwards and made a face as though he'd eaten something ancient and sour. "Oh—oh,  _God_." Looking down, I saw that he'd reached the section of the timeline where Tweek was most definitely having the best time of his life. "Fucking hell, man. The fuck is this? I do not need to see Tweek in the throes of passion. Did you guys fuck or something?"

"No. Don't worry about that, the point is—"  _Holy shit._  "I'm such a fucking idiot." My palm connected with my forehead. "That was his first orgasm!" I outstretched my arms and directed them toward the sketchbook, talking to myself more than my best friends. "Of course he'd give that to me! How come—Jesus Christ. How could I have been so oblivious? He made it so fucking obvious! He practically told me right then!  _He told me I was Spiderman!_ "

"Okay, that's nice." Clyde flipped the page, flicking the corner with his finger as though he didn't want to touch the paper with Tweek's panting, blushing face. "I'm still confused as fuck. You and Tweek? Really, dude? He's a nut! And a dude!"

"Just shut up. Stop worrying about that. That doesn't matter."

"No, dude. It does matter." He pointed toward the rough sketch of Tweek and I together. "This is as bad as little girls writing the name of the cutest boy in class all over their diaries or whatever."

I took my sketchbook back and hit him in the face with it. "I was trying to see things from his perspective. I was trying to figure out the type of guy he'd go for and it was me."

"Are you positive?" The brunette asked distastefully. The straight faced look I gave him caused him to groan and rub his eyes. "How ironic that you end up with a kid from South Park. I _knew_  this was going to happen, damn it. I thought we were done with that place."

"Who decided we were going to 'end up' together?"

Craig Tucker was a lone wolf. Craig Tucker didn't settle down.

Clyde rolled his eyes and tossed his head against the back of the chair. "Tweek's not even here and I feel like he never left. His pictures are everywhere, you bring him up in every conversation, my _girlfriend_  brings him up in every conversation and then you two go back and forth about him. You're as into him as he is you."

My brows hiked at his bitter retort. "Not in the same way, though."

"Close enough," he grumbled.

I waved him away and felt a surge of egotism corrupt me. "I'm fucking Sherlock Holmes, you guys. I figured that shit out so good."

"Of course that's all you'd be excited about," Token laughed. "Great discovery, Craig. I'm proud of you. Now what are you going to do about it?"

My grin was vicious. "Tweek's going to regret ever wanting my nuts."


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

  
_I like the sound of a birdsong  
_ _That can make me feel so fine, so fine._   


—Lena Meyer Landrut, I Like to Bang My Head

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

My phone quickly transformed into my most cherished possession.

For about a week since returning home I'd wanted to shoot myself. Craig hadn't been sending any letters and I hadn't had the courage to send one first. My mood ended up reflecting in my work, both at the coffeehouse and at school. To be honest, I don't think anybody even wanted to hang out with me during that time. I'd been such a bummer that I didn't even blame them.

That's when a remarkable thing called Craig Tucker got my number happened. I'd known instantly that I had Clyde's girlfriend to thank and I would barrage her with appreciation the next time I saw her because all of a sudden my entire week of pity seemed meaningless, every day since then has been wonderful, and I've just always wanted to be able to say: "Yeah, I've got Craig Tucker's number." Even though I've only said it to myself in my head, it was good enough for me.

We talked all the time.  _Hours_  at a time. Those were my favorite parts of the day— _every_  day—and even though they happened regularly, I never got over them. Each call was like a shot of adrenaline. When we were on the phone together I did my homework or cleaned the house or washed the dishes in the coffeehouse. I could restock, sweep, and make dinner far more efficiently than I did with only my own thoughts to talk to. Craig made me want to do something with my time that didn't have to do with counting pills or visiting Dr. Norris for my scheduled appointments.

And I was smart about it. I waited for  _him_  to call  _me_ —never the other way around. Every time he called I felt satisfaction and thought _That's right_ , because for once  _I_  got to be the one who felt superior. Craig wouldn't call unless he wanted to talk to me, and he called a lot. It made me feel good about myself. Someone wanted to talk to me on a regular basis. I was  _worth_ talking to on a regular basis. The best part though was that it was Craig. He gave me hours of his time every day because he wanted to and because I was worth it to him. Our phone calls made me happy in ways I hadn't known existed. It was a simple happy, an easy happy.

I was napping when my phone buzzed, its little body located at the small of my back from when I'd flipped over. A smile touched my lips and I buried my face into my pillows, a feeling in my chest that was both constricting and expanding. My arm bent around, wrist twisting to find it. Once I had it I brought it to my ear and murmured, "Hello?"

If it turned out to be Thomas, I was going to be pissed. Once before that had happened, an instance where I had been so sure it was Craig purely based on being used to him calling often. I've never been so disappointed.

"Aye," Craig drawled. I bit my lip, adoring the deep rumble of his voice over the phone.

"Hi." I wondered if my happiness came across in my tone the way I could tell that his was gruff.

He chuckled, and for a second I was terrified that it was true, that he knew how happy just a phone call from him could make me, but then he asked, "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," I confessed. "But it's okay. I was just taking a nap."

While Craig responded, I opened my jaws and yawned. "Oh? How was it without me?"

My cheeks blossomed, but this was behavior I was used to from him. He liked to remind me that things were always better when he was there to do it with me like sleeping and eating and pretty much everything else. Whenever it could be questioned, he made sure to do it.  _I had a bad dream last night—Oh, how was it without me? I just went out to eat with Thomas—Oh, how was it without me?_

"Awful," I exaggerated. "Your absence was all I could think about."

Flirting with Craig—I wouldn't say it was something I was used to—but rather it was something that I looked forward to because I knew that it would happen regardless. The level of comfort I felt with him made me bold enough to do so.

"Well that's just terrible," he concluded. The smile on my lips stretched wider. "I think I might have to do something to fix that."

"And what would that be?" I closed my eyes and continued to rest, lulled by his voice and content with just listening.

Momentarily he hummed before saying, "Clyde's throwing a party for Halloween. Everyone's getting dressed up and they're going to wreck the apartment so you should come back so you'll be here for it because I want you to go."

"A party?" Parties meant beer and alcohol and drugs and horrible judgement and regrets and mistakes and sometimes the cops and a vicinity full of people I couldn't trust. I could remember stories from high school about those particular parties, specifically ones centered around this exact trio of best friends. Clyde had a tendency to turn into a party animal, Token was known for capturing every vital moment, and Craig was that heinous part of your conscious that suggested you do bad things. He was the person that gave out ideas that eventually led to the cops. He was the one who turned a person into "that" drunk. And that was just high school.

"Booze, people, sex in whatever bedroom happens to be open." His description made me uneasy for multiple reasons. One was due to my basic paranoia regarding parties in general because these were unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar town, but another was my own unfamiliar persona when I wasn't sober. What if I admitted everything to Craig? It was a terrifying question and the last thing I wanted to do was find out what would happen if I did.

"I—I don't know." Unfamiliarity wasn't the only reason keeping me from accepting his invitation. "I mean, I want to! I do want to. But people in costumes, they make me anxious."

Craig scoffed, offended. "You don't think I can protect you? I'm as macho as they come, little man."

"Little man?" I cried. "I'm not little anymore! I've grown so much." Five foot six was a radical growth from how tall I used to be. "Do you really not think so?"

"No. I don't think so." He was laughing at me on the other line.

I sat up, perturbed. "Seriously?"

He snorted as though making fun of me for asking. "Do you even shave?"

That was quite the question. I opened my mouth to retort before closing it just as quickly, deflating against my bed. "No."

"Ah, I see. You're still just a baby," Craig cooed. "I will call you peach fuzz." What kind of nickname was  _that?_  Hopefully he knew that I was pouting. "It'd be illegal anyways. You don't have to come."

"N-No!" I wanted to see him again. If I had to get through a costume party full of drunks then I would. "I'll come. I want to go."

"I knew you did." When I made a snarky comment about how O _h, he was all-seeing wasn't he?_  he agreed and said, "Fuck yeah I am. You wouldn't believe some of the shit I've dug up on people."

 _Well I sure hope you never dig up any of mine._  "Just let me ask Kenny. We've never spent Halloween somewhere else before but I'm sure he won't mind."

"Does he absolutely  _have_  to come?"

Craig's question flattered me, and I paused entirely just to process it. I'd just assumed that the invitation included Kenny as well, but was it just me that he wanted? Not that he  _wanted_  me. In that sense. I shook my head to clear my various thoughts and asked, "Who else is going to protect me incase you're not macho enough?"

"You want  _Kenny_  as your backup? You do know he'd rather fuck you than protect you, right?" Before I could say anything, he added, "You don't want to lose your virginity to him."

 _You're right. I want to lose it to you._  "How else am I going to get down there?"

"Can't you drive?" He asked me so honestly that I couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you kidding me? I don't even have my permit. I'm the apocalypse when I get behind the wheel."

Despite insulting myself, I felt pretty damn good when Craig humored me. "Then I can come—"

"No you're not," I said, finalizing any argument. He was silent after my interjection. "I'm not going to be a burden like that."

Whatever he said next was left unheard, because in that moment, Thomas barged into my room. It was so unexpected that I shrieked and knocked my head against the wall, cursing violently into my phone before directing the rest toward my best friend who'd begun laughing. I twisted around on my bed until my feet touched the floor. Hunched over, the golden blonde didn't even realize it when I ran into him, tackling him into my door where it slammed shut with a repercussive thud.

He grabbed me from around the waist and hoisted me into the air. I slammed my elbow into his shoulder but he refused to relent, tossing me onto my bed where I nearly bounced back into the wall again. A warning started in my throat, abruptly cut off when he lunged and landed on top of me. The air left my lungs and I had to gasp for it to return, shoving at Thomas hard enough that he rolled onto his stomach beside me.

Craig's voice returned to my ear. "Did you just die?"

"Not quite," I breathed. "Thomas just threw me across the room."

"Is that Craig?" I waved for the golden blonde to shut his mouth.

"Dude, I need to teach you how to defend yourself. You never know when Kenny'll snap and take advantage of you."

I rolled my eyes. "Like he hasn't tried already."

"Yeah, I heard."  _Oh really?_  Maybe it was best if Kenny didn't go to Craig's. I couldn't keep track of what left his mouth. Or went in it. "You're prude even when you're drunk."

"Well, I'm glad he put in a g-good word for me," I grumbled.

Thomas scooted closer, our sides pressed together tight. He leaned in close to hear the whole conversation. "That was supposed to be a good word?"

A scowl found my face. "Hey." I imagined him feigning interest by listening mock-earnestly. "Virgins are rare and few. People love virgins."

"Hmm. You're right. I did pick you over Kenny because of your purity."

"Yeah, you did. That was your most charming moment." Thomas pulled back with a look of surprise expanding across his features. He hasn't witnessed me flirt—ever. I blushed and turned away, taking my conversation elsewhere.

"You like that?" There was a husky note on the edge of Craig's voice. "Do you want me to say it again?"

"Oh God," I laughed. "Yeah, say it again."

"No, you have be like: Oh baby, say it one more time." He even put emphasis on the "oh baby".

My hand reached up to cover the side of my face as my laughter turned to giggles. "Are you serious? I don't want to say that."

He sighed dramatically. "Jesus Christ, dude. I'm going to have to teach you how to dirty talk too?"

"What?" Thomas stuck his ear against the other side of the phone at my incredulous cry. "I—I don't want to learn how to do that!"

"Too late. It's already happening. The next time you come over we're going to wrestle and talk dirty to each other."

Thomas gave me a thumbs up, mortifying me. "No, I don't think w-we should do that."

"What did I just tell you, dude? There's no changing my mind. I'm going to show you how to seduce a man."

"How the hell did we go from dirty talking to seducing?" At my wonderment, Thomas hooted and pelvic thrust against me. "I don't even have anyone  _to_  seduce."

"Sure you do," he chuckled condescendingly. "Whatever happened to your cockblock crush? Don't you want to seduce him?"

 _Fuck yeah I want to seduce you all over the place, Craig Tucker. That's all I've ever wanted to do to you._  But instead I managed to squeak out, "Oh. No—no. That's n-not really necessary a-at all really."

Craig made an amused sort of noise. "Actually, I think it is. We need to get you some ass, Tweek." My breath caught because it was _his_  ass that I wanted. "I'm going to refine your skills and then you're going to find this asshole of a crush and tease the fucking shit out of him, alright?" All I could do was babble incoherently, unsure if I should be excited or scared out of my mind. "So what's Thomas doing over?"

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and croaked, "We're going out to eat."

"Ah," he mused. "I wonder how fun it'll be without me."

To distract myself from our previous topic of conversation so bluntly dismissed, I watched Thomas pull some shoes out of my closet. Now would be the opportune moment to get the fuck off the phone so I could breathe. "Y-Yeah. I—uhm—s-should probably go."

"Okay." His voice was nothing but a mutter. It was impossible to keep the corners of my lips from shifting upward. Saying bye definitely wasn't his favorite thing to do and I couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with me or if he just liked talking on the phone. "Can I call you later, peach fuzz?"

"Don't call me that," I scolded. "But yeah, call me later."

"Okay, Tweek Tweak." My chest expelled its weird contraction-expansion feeling. To keep it contained, I curled in on myself.

It took a lot for me to admit it—perhaps my rationality was misguided because of this uncontrollable feeling—when I told him, "I like the way you say my name. It sounds like a bird chirp."

His grin was noticeable through his voice. "I'll call you later then. Eat something good."

And then he hung up.

All I wanted to do was ram my head through the wall. Instead, I turned my phone off and pushed it over the side of my bed so that I wouldn't be tempted to gawk at it and all of the conversations its put me through.

"I swear he is the only man for you," Thomas said, grabbing one of my ankles so he could put my foot into my shoe. I clenched my hands until my knuckles went white just hearing that.

"You know how there's a difference between regularity and compulsion?" Regularity was nothing to be thought of. Regularity happened and it was natural. Compulsions spun around my head and threaded through every crevice until just the thought of any certain thing in particular made me feel the need to _do_  something. Something to counter or correspond and Craig Tucker made me want to do  _many_ somethings. Like dirty talk and seduce and tease and anything else he might've had in mind. "He is definitely a compulsion, Thomas."

There were specific things that I constantly sought. When I was out in public, anxious with all of those people around me, I wanted only to go home. When my paranoia surfaces, dousing me with its irrationality, I wanted only my medication. But when I was without Craig, stuck in South Park and unsure of when the next time I'd see him would be, I wanted only to see him because that's when my brain would finally quiet down.

"I can tell." Thomas straightened out and walked toward my door, opening it and stepping out. I reached over the side of my bed to retrieve my phone before rolling off to follow the golden blonde. "But what's this about wrestling and dirty talk?"

"Supposedly I need to learn how to defend myself and because I wouldn't say 'oh baby, say it one more time' I guess I need a lesson on how to dirty talk too."

As we started down the stairs, Thomas said, "Yeah, man. If you can't say that then you need some— _fuck_ —help. I can give you a few pointers so that you can surprise him. You can show him how eager you are to be his student."

"We're not  _roleplaying_ , dude. There's no teacher-student game going on."

"Fine then. No fun for you." He shrugged nonchalantly, leading us into the kitchen. Neither of us noticed my mom as he said, "Just make sure to tell him that you want him to rip off all your clothes. And to push you against the wall. I think you'd be into a little bit of that. Like you're so shy and soft-spoken but inside you want to be roughed up. That's where the wrestling comes in, let me tell you."

There was a clank from sink as she accidentally knocked a piece of silverware into it. My lungs tightened at her presence. She wasn't supposed to be home. Her and my dad were only ever at the coffeehouse when I wasn't. Why the hell was she here? "Oh my God." I grabbed Thomas by the arm and hauled him toward the front door, hurriedly trying to evacuate the house and take my best friend's sexual comment with us.

Outside, Thomas harshly whispered, "She wasn't there earlier. I can't believe I said that in front of her."

"Fuck that, man! I can't believe you said that about  _me_  in front of her!"

He walked with a guilty stride toward Kenny's truck parked in the driveway. I followed and got in first because the middle was always my seat, ignoring the other blonde as he asked what was wrong. "I told him to tell Craig to rip his clothes off and push him against the wall. His mom was standing right there," Thomas confessed.

Kenny cracked up laughing, further aggravating me. "That's priceless, Tweekers. Stop being a baby about it."

My glare was narrowed directly at his face. "My parents already think I'm a slut. Now they're going to think I'm a kinky slut." Pulling out of the driveway, Kenny started down the street, his trunk a lumbering chunk of metal. "They want me to get tested. Again."

Once before I'd been tested but the difference was that it'd been my own choice even though I was as virgin as a virgin could get. I'd just had to make sure otherwise my paranoia was going to diagnose me with crabs, genital herpes, chlamydia or any other possible STD. This time is was my mom and dad's decision because they believed I was going to Lakewood for what was probably multiple men when in reality it was only ever going to be one. One that I hadn't even had sex with. Their own worry and paranoia I'd inherited was their attempt at taking care of me, I knew, but it was beginning to breach a boundary that was—by this point—just plain  _insulting_.

"Just tell your parents the truth," Kenny said. "You're going to Lakewood for Craig and that's it." The problem was that I didn't want my parents knowing that I had the world's most clingy crush on the same boy who had caused a relatively fair amount of trouble in our town. The same boy I grew up with; the same boy they  _knew_ ; the same boy who beat the shit out of me in third grade and I to him. My parents and his parents were  _friends_. I would kill myself if word of my crush reached Craig's monstrous firecrotch of a dad. "Better yet, let them talk to him. Parents love talking to who their child's infatuated with. They just need reassurance."

"That's not happening. No," I said.

"Believe it or not, Craig is a parent charmer. I can guarantee that he is the type you want to bring home to your parents because he knows how to work with them. Him and Token. Let him show your mom and dad that he's a good guy, otherwise whatever happens next you've done to yourself."

What I blurted out in tandem was an attempt to change the subject, to push it in the direction of somewhere lighter. "Clyde's throwing a Halloween party and we're invited. Can we go?"

But of course it would fail me.

"You're not going to be happy about this," Kenny warned, stopping at a light.

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. "What?" I growled.

The light changed and the truck continued down the road. "I'm going away in a couple of days. I won't be gone for long, but it'll be after Halloween when I get back. It's a workshop ordeal down in Denver. I'm staying with Kyle."

"Oh." I wanted to be happy because this was good for him. He was getting farther in his career and that was above all else. I was proud of this skirt chaser who at one point had been nothing but a pervert. But that also meant I wouldn't be able to see Craig until he got back. Maybe this would be best, though. I've never spent a holiday away from home, especially one so scary. Thomas and I usually stayed inside and watched one scary movie then for the remainder of the night watched whatever else was on. It would be weird without him.

"I know what you're thinking but it's not like you absolutely need me to get down there." Kenny glanced over and winked.

I scoffed. "Oh yeah, just let me total my dad's car trying to get out of the driveway." He opened his mouth to interject, only I wasn't finished. "Just let me get a world record full of traffic tickets for driving five miles per hour down the highway. Let me drive for two days just to get there."

He started laughing as he said, "Don't play stupid, Tweek. You know I meant to ask Craig."

"Oh yeah," I repeated. "Just let me ask him to drive two hours down here and two hours back just to pick me up. I'm not leaving Thomas alone for Halloween anyways."

"I'd rather have you with Craig on Halloween than with me. You're getting down there one way or another," Thomas promised, not helping me in the slightest.

"He'll do it," Kenny added.

"No he won't."

"Ask for yourself and see."

_Great. Fucking wonderful._

Maybe Craig would be meeting my parents sooner than I expected.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Pretty Lady's point of view:

* * *

Craig has been getting rather inventive with his talent lately. My big, idiot brute of a roommate. He was learning so slowly but things would pick up soon. I could see it in his art.

Once he had discovered that Tweek was crushing on him, the transition began. Where he'd been very literal and realistic before, he was becoming obscure and interpretive now. He was more about the underlying meaning of his creations and I think that was because Tweek had kept  _his_  hidden for so long. How it had remained hidden, nobody had any idea. It was hard to blame Craig, though, when he was clearly so very excited about this "epiphany" or so he called it.

Nature was his interest currently and he liked to paint trees with leaves the color of Tweek's hair. He drew hands that could only be Tweek's pushing up through dirt, as small as the sprigs of grass surrounding them and embellished with drops of dew. Little birds in nests uncharacteristically soft turned out to be resting on Tweek's blonde mop of unruly locks. One night he'd presented us with a portrayal of Tweek stuck inside of a pill capsule.

"When Tweek called, he left this with me." Clyde held up Craig's sketchbook which was reaching the last of its blank pages. On it was a detailed depiction of Clyde getting attacked by a flock of crows and yellow canaries. The canaries had Tweek's hair and the crows had quiffs. "If you look closely, there's blood on their beaks. I think it's time that he see a doctor," my boyfriend—as equally retarded as his best friend—said.

I sighed and took the book from him. "It's supposed to be open to interpretation." Flipping through it, I saw new versions of Tweek and nature combined into the same body as though he were some kind of fairy or nymph. "Maybe he's just hurt by how discouraging you've been and wanted to let you know."

"Totally," Clyde scoffed. "Because he was the most inspirational best friend when I first tried hooking up with you."

"Yeah.  _Hooking up_ , asshole." I shoved his shoulder and it bounced off the back of the couch. "You straight up said to Craig: 'She's convenient, dude.' All you wanted to do was have sex with me."

He rolled his eyes and swooshed his hand around. "It's not my fault we got a roommate with nice tits. I didn't think stuff like that actually happened." Stuff like holding out and just being roommates for a time before  _anything_  happened.

"Craigslist can do that," I mused, grinning because I had nice tits.

It made no sense when he frowned at me. At least until he grumbled, "Speaking of Craig."

My body deflated and I fell back against Token's legs which were pulled up onto the couch. We made eye contact as my head lolled to the side. I made a noise of exasperation because Clyde was being the moodiest brat. He was upset that his best friend's attention had been drawn away from him, but Token was Craig's best friend too, and it wasn't like he was complaining.

"You need to let this go," I told him. "Craig is so excited about this, Clyde. He's interpreting it as something completely different, but he's infatuated." There wasn't a single molecule that existed inside of Craig that believed he had affectionate feelings for Tweek. That introverted man might've known that the blonde had intense feelings for him, but he was hopeless when it came to himself. He thought he found it funny when all he really thought was  _Yeah, I like you too_. Another epiphany would be needed for that, though.

That phone of his—it was certainly a baby maker if there ever was one. Had Tweek been a woman, that is. Neither of them could stop talking to each other and Craig was always psyched to give the blonde a call. Tweek's work and school schedule had been memorized and Craig had made it a point to let us know that even when the blonde was busy, Tweek would still try to figure out a way to keep their call going. Doing that certainly hadn't impaired Craig's ego, and I almost felt bad because Tweek was unknowingly egging on his conceited crush.

Clyde mumbled something incoherent beneath his breath about all of the faggots in the world. I'd had a talk with him about saying that in front of Tweek to which he'd then thought up every other possible derogatory name he could. Ones like fruit cup, marshmallow, gay fuck, and his most creative name to date: butthole that eats dick. He disliked the blonde so much, had felt like such even before he and Craig had become a thing. I didn't quite understand why he treated Tweek the way he did, and it wasn't based on being from South Park, because Kenny hailed from the same town and yet that blonde was at least tolerable. Clyde's attitude made me sad.

With my eyes, I pleaded silently for Token to send in reinforcements. He blinked once, considering the backlash Clyde would inevitably give. If ever he was opposed, he threw a temper tantrum like no other. After pursing his lips, Token sighed resignedly and opened his mouth to speak. "What?" The brunette snapped, eyes darting threateningly between Token and I. "You both love Tweek. I fucking get it. Stop conspiring against me."

"I do love, Tweek. I love Tweek for Craig," Token said.  _Yes_ , my thoughts purred.  _Justice_. "There's practically no chance that Craig will ever get hurt because Tweek isn't capable of doing that to him." Clyde indignantly turned his head away from his best friend's words, but Token continued anyways. "Craig got a real late start with the whole relationship thing while the rest of us already experienced that. We've been through terrible girlfriends and know what to expect. Craig doesn't have a clue. You know that, Clyde. So let him have the one that won't ruin him because I'd really rather not see him with one that will."

Backlash for everyone except his best friends, it would seem, because Clyde said nothing. He clenched his jaw and nestled his cheek against a pillow, just staring at the dark television screen while we listened to Craig laugh about something from inside his room. I'd noticed that he was laughing, not a sardonic chuckle or snicker when Clyde accidentally stubbed his toe, but actually expelled genuine  _laughter_  a lot more than usual. "Clyde," I murmured. His eyes shifted. "How long have you known?" I was referring to Tweek's crush.

He looked away. "Everyone has always known," was the only thing he said.

We all heard Craig's door open and gave each other quick glances before looking over our shoulders to stare at the mouth of the hallway. When Craig appeared, he saw our trained eyes and stopped to stare back at us. He had his phone against his ear and said, "I'm being watched." Tweek must not have liked the sound of that. "I mean by my friends, not the government."

Token and Clyde grew disinterested—they must've heard that one before—while I continued to watch. Craig wandered over to the fridge and pulled out a soda before turning around and walking over to the couch. He stepped onto it despite Clyde's protests and sat down.

"Can you repeat everything you just said?" He asked, pressing a button on his phone and setting it down in front of him. Using his free hands, he opened his soda.

"I said the government can't—Sweet Jesus, I can't believe you're making me say this again—what if they're  _listening_?" Tweek cried, most likely unaware that he was on speaker phone. "They've got it out for us! Haven't you ever read 1984? George Orwell? I'm all about government conspiracies, dude."

Craig grinned when my brows rose curiously. Leaning toward Token, I whispered so as not to alert Tweek of our eavesdropping and asked, "The government?"

"It's—" He began.

"Classic Tweek Tweak," Craig finished, able to simultaneously speak to both the blonde and me.

Hushedly, Token agreed. "That explains it."

The blonde on the other line made a noise of outrage. "Classic Tweek Tweak?" He cried.

In what must've been a small fit of excitement—for he lifted his finger as if to say "Listen to this"—Craig completely ignored him and said instead, "Guess what."

For a second the blonde was silent. Craig had been so offhand that I don't think he was sure how to react. Then he asked, "What?"

The expression on Craig's face was smug. Whatever was going to come out of his mouth had a very determined purpose. "I was looking in the mirror today and I realized that I am just one ugly dude."

Tweek responded quickly. "No, you're not." It sounded as though he'd hissed immediately after, regretting his hasty remark, which was probably wise because Craig had an insatiable grin.

"You don't think I have an ugly mug?"

This time the blonde's answer came more hesitantly. "No, I...I wouldn't say that you do."

"That's good." Craig was pleased. "Neither do you. I'm actually quite fascinated by you."

A smirk wound through his lips as he listened to Tweek sputter in response. "I—that—uh...really?" It was apparent just how flattered he was by his fragile, airy tone of voice.

"Do you believe me?" Craig asked, placing his phone on his knee as he sat back comfortably, arms bent behind his head. He wasn't wearing a shirt and I was half tempted to take a picture and send it to Tweek just to fluster him further.

To redeem himself, Tweek pulled quite a risky tactic and disregarded Craig's question. "Maybe." The niorette couldn't be bothered with evasions. He was straight-forward and precise. So when all Tweek said was "I heard that you like to draw me," I found myself surprised that he wasn't prodded at for a more satisfactory answer.

"Yeah, there's a lot." It was a difficult task for Craig to dredge of any kind of shame.

"Don't lie," Tweek laughed.

After taking a sip of soda, Craig said, "I'm being dead serious."

"Oh." The blonde wasn't taking the confession very seriously, though. He wanted to be sarcastic instead. "Are there any naughty ones?"

He would soon regret making such a joke because Craig's answer was, "Just a few."

Tweek's abrupt silence made the atmosphere thick was amusement. The only one who wasn't feeling any entertainment was Clyde who grimaced and glared at the phone. Token's enjoyment was enough to make up for my boyfriend's foul mood, though. Maybe I should break up with one and just switch to the other.

"So what are you doing?" The blonde hurriedly asked, switching subjects for reasons that were obvious.

"Was that a diversion?" This poor kid was never going to get a break.

"No!" Except it was. "I-I'm actually very curious. About what you're doing. Yeah."

"I'm talking to some gay kid," Craig blatantly replied, staring up at the ceiling. He inhaled deeply, torso jutting out. A stretch was coming, and the wide berth of his ribcage expanded as he arched with the instinct. His biceps flexed, tightening involuntarily. It was interesting to look at these aspects of Craig and know that Tweek thought of them as pleasant.

Even when we first met, I'd never been interested although it'd been clear to me that Craig was an astoundingly attractive man. His beauty was the vicious kind, coupled with his blunt personality. The two were compatible with each other and created an ominous appeal. He was constantly assumed to be the type of guy who only accepted the invitation of those who were self-assured. Sometimes it happened when we went out and more often than that it happened at parties, but he would attract the attention of women who were detrimental to boys.

Craig was no regular boy, though—didn't know how to succumb to the hurt a girl like that could put him through—but the fact remained that the only people who thought they could present themselves to him were stupid girls. He might've been all striking eyes and pretty lips, but there was a very inverted charm beneath those features. One that no one could see because they didn't think it existed. Craig would beckon less petty people if he softened the intensity of what was already there, not that he'd be interested in them either. I think it took a lot of inspection to find, and one would need to search for a while before happening across it. These delicate aspects of him, they were disarming once noticeable.

It was his laughter when he shared an inside joke with his best friends and the glassy, fragile look in his eyes when he spent time with the dogs. It was his content expression every time he returned from visiting Stripe and the deep sarcasm covering up all of that sweet brother stuff in his voice whenever his sister called. And now there was Tweek: the boy who Craig would get slightly unfocused smiles for. In moments like those, I could tell how great his feelings were. But then his lips would turn up egotistically, and he would never realize his feelings if he remained as conceited as he tended to be.

I'd always known that he was in an impossible league far beyond that of normalcy. Just by looking at him I could tell that he was disconnected from intimacy, and not once had he ever looked at anyone in anything that was remotely even close to interested. Clyde and Token never pushed it and I had learned to never question it. I guessed that was what patience was, though. Because of course Tweek would come along and make Craig question it himself.

"Wow," Tweek muttered. "You can be so charismatic sometimes. So dreamy."

Craig cracked up laughing because Tweek had been telling the truth. To the blonde, he was literally the dreamiest man alive.

Oh, their interactions made me the happiest girl.

The sound of a muffled yawn quieted Craig's laughter down. "Are you tried?" He asked, sniggering still.

"Just a little."

"Are you laying in bed?" His sardonic smirk proved that Craig was going somewhere with this.

"No," the blonde snorted. "I'm sitting in the pots and pans cabinet."

"That's actually believable if you think about it—"

Tweek interjected, snapping, "Of course I'm in bed."

"What are you wearing?" Craig quirked his brows at us. Clyde rolled his head and grumbled, sinking further into the couch. I reached out and punched him in the thigh for being uncooperative.

"Nothing!" The blonde cursed himself and added, "Not  _nothing_  nothing—just nothing important, y-you know?"

Actually, Craig didn't know. I often walked into his room to wake him up for work and found him passed out naked in his bed, sometimes on his stomach and sometimes on his back. His butt had the most adorable dimples, and his dick was quite remarkable. Tweek was going to be a very satisfied young man one day.

Craig bent down to lean over his phone. "I sleep commando."

In my head, I could see Tweek's mouth working but no words escaping. It took him a second, one clear pause that had me biting down on a giggle. All of us were still incognito and I didn't want to be the one to ruin it. "I can't tell if you're joking or not," he finally managed to force out.

His denial was adorable and Craig thought so, too. "I can assure you that I'm not," he promised.

"W-Well that's nice," Tweek squeaked.

There was one of those unfocused smiles on Craig's lips. After a moment, he recalled, "You never told me what you were wearing."

" _Clothes_ , Craig. I'm w-wearing clothes."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Stan's point of view:

* * *

Tweek's progressively gotten worse with the whole Craig thing.

Those four short years had been a blessing and Kenny just had to go and ruin it. It was one thing—however uncalled for—for Kenny to search and then take Tweek to  _see_  the apathetic bastard, to dangle the only person he's ever wanted just outside of his reach. It was another for him to let Tweek's infatuation grow, to expand, and that was where we were now. Everyone was inside of this expansion: some of us encouraging, some of us hesitant.

My issue in the matter wasn't even with Tweek so much as it resided in Craig. No matter how little the blonde saw in himself, I knew that he had all of the potential any other person was able to harbor. But Craig—that guy just wasn't capable of compassion to the degree that my friend would undoubtably need. Tweek was the type of person who leeched off of other's emotions and Craig didn't really have anything to absorb besides indifference and a steady stream of pure nothingness.

I could remember how badly the blonde had resembled a puppy throughout high school. Always staring forlornly at Craig Tucker in class, during lunch, after school, at pep rallies or assemblies or any occasion his crush happened to show up at. Always trying to please Craig Tucker by changing the wrong answers on his tests to the right ones, making excuses for him when he was late to class,  _hacking_  into his school attendance record to change his absences to excused because Tweek worked in the office, had good relationships with the teachers, and was trustworthy.

And Craig Tucker not _once_  noticed any of Tweek's displays of affection or endearment. Anything that he did was futile because Craig Tucker couldn't seem to care for anyone who came after Clyde Donovan or Token Black.

It was for that reason that I didn't believe he deserved someone as accommodating as Tweek. The blonde wasn't the type to change who he was—Tweek was a permanent scrambled mess—but he'd fix the things he could to benefit someone else if at all possible. He'd cheat his way to make sure Craig graduated high school and he'd learn to accept the obliviousness that made up the majority of his presence in Craig's life. If that was the best Tweek thought he could amount to, then it would suffice because he's never been one to ask for much. He never asked for credit or recognition or gratitude. Craig hadn't even been aware that he'd done anything, but he'd belittled Tweek, and belittlement wasn't healthy to leech off of.

And then the day it came—the packing and the move and the "Fuck you South Park" as he stuck his middle fingers up into the air—had been one of the most reconstructive days of my life. I thought that Tweek would find a way to cling to somebody else. A cuter guy would come along and he would put Craig Tucker somewhere inside his memories because everyone has those first crushes that never quite went away but weren't good enough to stay. It would be redemption because this time it would be  _Craig_  existing nowhere but in the background.

Instead, Tweek had become disconnected. He was emotionally compulsive to begin with, but without his compulsion to activate him, he'd turned emotionally retarded. It wasn't like I didn't understand where he was coming from presently. I knew now that when you got used to liking someone constantly that it was hard when suddenly they weren't there. For that alone—for the experience of going through Kyle's own disappearance—I had given Tweek's crush some leeway, just enough to tug on when he felt particularly trodden. Just enough to keep me from telling him how useless this feeling toward Craig was when he was upset and lonely.

That's when somehow  _this_  happened. This return visit from Craig and this rush of emotional stimulation and this loss of Tweek around South Park because every couple of weeks he was somewhere in Lakewood. I never knew what to expect when I saw Tweek next. If he'd cry, if he'd be overbearingly happy, if he'd excuse himself to go outside and talk on the phone for _hours_. He'd literally sit out in the grass of his backyard or the stairway of my apartment or another room entirely and converse about things I never even thought were on his mind. Craig made him laugh about everything, would get him to debate topics nobody thought he had an opinion on. He'd started wearing a smile I've never seen before and asked which of his clothes looked the best on him, wondered how unattractive his medication intake was and how that effected his chances with Craig.

"Tweek, honey." The blonde raised his weary eyes. He was sitting across from me and Kyle, fretting not so much over Craig's undetermined time of arrival but because of  _us._ Craig would not only need his parents' permission but  _ours_. He looked to where his mother was, rustling around behind the counter while his dad assumed a station at the register. "How soon will your boyfriend be here?"

His eyes balked at her loose use of the term "boyfriend." It was clear that he wasn't although it seemed that his mom and dad considered him otherwise. Kyle shared brief eye contact with me, silently acknowledging his mom's inaccurate inquiry and Tweek's startled reaction.

"I don't know," he grunted. For an honest second I didn't think he was going to fix her mistake, and if he wasn't, then I would. But then he added, "And he's not my boyfriend." He was too quiet for the statement to make an impact, and I really wished he would've kept his mouth shut so that I could have said more factually that the two had no such connection. That was only what he  _longed_  to call Craig. Desperately, so. It was a very obvious desire.

Tweek's mood had been detrimental all morning as though he'd woken up deteriorated and was just skeletal now. He'd been cleaning the coffeehouse sporadically and in increasing increments the longer it took Craig to show. It'd started with the windows which were practically nonexistent at the moment. Tweek got excited over crumbs and askew chairs, stray napkins or just washing his hands. The jitters he had were noticeable and his eyes became estrange in their size every time the bell above the door chimed.

Intuitively picking up on the meaning of my and Kyle's eye contact, he frowned and narrowed a glare at the two of us. "Why are you guys even here? Both of my parents are and they _never_ work the same shift, dude! Craig d-doesn't want to see you and I don't want to put him in a bad mood. I don't even know where Thomas is." Scouring the  _Welcome to South Park_  sign for a crowning glimpse of huge doucher—that of which was absolutely true. He'd been missing for a while, definitely stalking the only road that led into our town.

"Well, you've just about made him out to be the biggest sweetheart so I have to see what's changed."

My reply came just as Kyle said, "Think of us as your same-sex parents."

The blonde's scowl was at maximum output. He wrung a washcloth between his hands, and for an eery moment, I envisioned us in an alternate universe where that same jerky motion was being enacted on my neck. "It's not like he's going to be a sweetheart to  _you,_ " Tweek muttered.

"You're right. I want him to grovel."

"No," Kyle interjected. "You both just need to calm down."

But I was his fiancé and that meant that I could take loopholes to skirt around wherever his directive lay.

Apparently, so could Tweek. "Just don't say anything embarrassing!" He snapped frustratedly. "Don't make any s-smartass comments because you do it to me all the time and it's one thing when it is me but Craig's going to be freaked out enough just by being here s-so don't try to piss him off. Okay?  _Promise_  me you won't do anything like that."

His little pinky jut out, short nail sculpted and contrasting gravely to the slight tremble of his hand. It was the protection that he bundled Craig inside of that kept its own against his prominent anxiety that I returned his gesture by interlocking our smallest fingers and promising that I would do no such thing although I didn't exactly understand what he meant.  _I_  wasn't the smartass type.

As though my thoughts had been deciphered, Kyle turned to give me a look of warning. My finger tightened around Tweek's as my evasiveness shriveled. Maybe I could be a smartass sometimes.

From my peripheral vision, movement caught my eye. I'd strategically placed myself at a booth facing the front windows so that when Craig eventually entered, I would know and be able to reconfigure my features into something like a threatening stare. Today had been rather slow for business, each person that moseyed along effectively capturing my attention, although despite the shortage, there had been enough people to discourage me after a couple hours of waiting.

So when his recognizable figure came wandering down the sidewalk with one exuberant Thomas draped across his shoulders like a cape, I accidentally threw on something like surprise instead. He might've finally revealed himself and I might've prepared for this moment for days, but this appearance was not what I was expecting. The look on Craig's face was too guarded, uncharacteristically distracted by his surroundings, not disinterested like he should've been because Tweek was right: returning home had sketched him out.

My line of sight and expression was interpreted by Tweek. His jaw dropped and he swiveled around just as the bell that had been teasing him all day signaled the correct arrival of the man we'd all been waiting for. He choked at what he saw—at what I thought was Thomas slung across Craig's back—and darted his eyes around the shop to search for his parents. When they weren't spotted, he stumbled out of his seat and lunged.

I didn't blame the poor blonde. Craig Tucker was a one good looking dude. Kyle even leaned over to whisper in my ear, "Stan? Why do I suddenly wish I was Thomas?" I pinched the bridge of my nose because this was  _not_  the asshole that I remembered, just physically speaking of course. His hair might've had a mussed fashion that framed and highlighted his facial features, almost quiff-like in its appearance where it'd once been so lengthy. He might've grown in height, a few inches that had done quite beautiful things to his body. That grin he wore might've made my jealousy combust and his eyes—those goddamn eyes.

But there was nothing to disguise his smug attitude or the conceited stature of his lanky figure. His egotism couldn't be downplayed by the curl of his shapely lips. The nonchalant aura encasing him wasn't appealing to me and the spark of amusement flickering wildly in the backs of his eyes upon seeing Tweek made me nothing but wary. It was a look that he was proud of, something that said a certain blonde was going to be a lot of fun from now on. A protective instinct of mine jolted and I knew that Tweek hadn't kept his secret as close to him as he should've. Craig had figured out the dead-honest truth.

"Are you fucking serious?" Tweek hissed, chastising the man on his shirt and not Thomas. "Kenny said you were good with parents!" His fingers fumbled with the two sides of Craig's undone flannel, but he'd never been good with buttons and began to put it together all wrong.

"Tweek." But the blonde wasn't listening. He was grumbling beneath his breath and straightening out Craig's shirt and bypassing the things on the man's face that made me very uncomfortable. "Stop that." Craig snatched his hands away.

The blonde glowered up at him, clasped hands drawn against his sides. "What were you thinking? You can't come in with your shirt like that!"

Craig ignored him and commanded, "Welcome me home otherwise I'm going to leave and come back in naked."

"What—" Tweek got a good look in and noticed the slightly dazed expression in the eyes of his crush, inferred that his own assumptions were right. "Craig," he murmured and smiled softly to pity the man. It made my stomach roil, the way I knew that Craig was going to kiss him because I was experienced in the suggestive look he wore well. It was the one I used on Kyle, the one that lured him in. "Welcome home."

It was a curious thing watching their exchange. They hadn't even been acquaintances for the longest time and now suddenly Tweek was chastising him, was letting Craig kiss him as though he already knew his secret was out of the box and there was nothing left to hide. Tweek barely reached Craig's shoulders and I couldn't keep from noticing that they looked rather nice together. They were opposites: tall and short, black and blonde, certain and unsure.

"Don't freak out," Craig said. He straightened out and grinned shamelessly down at my unfortunate friend. "But your parents just saw me kiss you."

Tweek must've gone literally numb because all he said was, "Oh." And then a torrent: "Okay. Okay, that's fine. I-It's cool. I can work with that." But his voice was a hurried whisper and I could no longer hear him but he was continuing to speak directly to Craig, probably giving him a list of fast instructions.

"Dude." The blonde blinked owlishly up at his crush who bonked their foreheads together. "Keep your bones together." He pinpointed a careless gaze at Kyle and I, the same one I hadn't felt on me in four years yet it was still so familiar, and sent Tweek wobbling toward his parents.

He moseyed over just as Thomas climbed into a neighboring booth so he could lean his upper half into ours. "Craig," I greeted, fighting my tongue to keep from spewing his name.

"Marsh." Distaste was evident in his tone.

Good, that meant we were on the same page.

He sat down and leaned back, cracking his neck one direction and then the next, a cocky smirk on his lips. His vivid eyes shifted between me and Kyle before settling firmly on my own. "I heard you're getting married. Congratulations."

Kyle scoffed. "That took a lot out of you, didn't it?" Unabashedly, he nodded in affirmation. The redhead's mouth twitched. "How much begging did Tweek have to do to get that out of you?"

"I could make this sexual" —my eyes flared and my fists clenched— "but I don't think you want me to get sexual about Tweek," he finished, grinning maliciously. "I'm actually a very reasonable person."

"You're still a fucking asshole," I growled.

"Really?" He laughed this gravely sounding laughter that I was positive affected Tweek much differently than it was doing to me. "I'm taking Tweek off your hands. You should be calling me considerate."

When I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table, Craig's jaw tightened at my threatening posture. "Tweek isn't an issue that I need you to take care of."

A seriousness made his eyes look colder as he met me halfway, menacing when he stopped a short distance from my face. "You'd love for me to mess this up, wouldn't you?"

Ignoring his ploy, I informed him of the only choice he had in this situation. "You do not hurt him."

"I know he's still just a baby," Craig said. And of course he was right because Tweek would always be young, naive, and impressionable. "I know how to take care of him." Looking me dead in the eye, he also very slowly said—though I wasn't sure if it was meant to be a threat or a promise—"And I know you don't want to, but you're going to trust me with him."

The tightness within the walls of my throat relaxed as I investigated the assertion of his steady stare. This wasn't a short notice decision off the top of his head just to spite me. He'd debated and considered and chosen this for himself. Tweek had an importance to him that I would probably never know. And Craig Tucker wasn't the type to lie. He didn't waver and he didn't misuse what was close to him. I don't even think he realized how badly he wanted to be responsible for Tweek and I wondered if this had anything to do with his guinea pig. If he needed to take care one thing at all times just to be content.

And it occurred to me then that that was exactly what was going to happen. Tweek was his.

There was something innocently endearing about that.


	40. Chapter Forty

_Little kids draw pictures of the ground, the sky, and space in between. If you ask them what the in-between space is, they say, "That's where we are."_

—Ed McCullough

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

I'd been trying to put in a good word for Craig every chance I got—he's completing college; he has a steady job, a steady income; he takes good care of his dogs and himself; he's a good driver, has been since he turned sixteen and I could remember that first day he'd gotten his car—when my dad interjected and said, "I don't want to hear this from you, Tweek. I want to hear that you have been and are going to be taken care of by  _him_."

I swallowed and nodded my head, spinning around on my heel to walk somewhat disjointedly to the booth containing my friends and Craig. His face was like deja vu, just as I always saw it in my memories: that apathetic set of his features and the dead look in his cold eyes. It was his default expression that he'd wear when regarding Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. It was an expression I'd never received because I hadn't been important enough to even be noticed, but the one I was given now made up for all of the times I've ever wanted him to look at me.

The abrupt change in his eyes at my arrival was like a still body of water suddenly ruptured by the rapid twist of a fish flitting past and the direction of those ripples sent him to me. We looked at each other in front of Stan and Kyle and Thomas in a way that I've only ever desperately hoped of doing. It was just something measly that would've made my life back then just as it was doing now because even being  _acknowledged_  by Craig was enough to make me feel so substantial.

"My parents want to talk to you," I said, an uncomfortable undertone thick in my voice.

His lips quirked upward and he slid from the booth, standing so much taller than me. He leaned a bit lower to say, "You have absolutely no reason to worry. Your parents are going to love me."

Craig slipped past me and I made to follow him when Stan shot a hand out and grabbed my wrist. His answer to my incredulous look was: "Let him talk to them alone."

Although I was wary, I trusted Stan's opinion and tentatively took Craig's discarded seat. "So how was your t-talk?" I couldn't keep my eyes from shifting to stare hawk-eyed at Craig as he confidently approached my parents. I know I've always wanted him to meet them, but my imagination had never pictured it quite like this.

Stan and Kyle exchanged a look with a meaning that I couldn't calibrate. "He's Craig, Tweek."  _Yes, I know he's Craig. That's why I like him._  "He'll always be a bastard."

My already unfortunate mood deflated into a flat line. Kyle spoke up as though to revive my hurt feelings. "Way to score a looker, though." When I raised my eyes, a sly smile was spotted on his lips. "I think he might be a little into you." His fiancé shot him a sharp look. "Not that I'm encouraging anything of the sort. I just—" He threw his hands up and shrunk down into his seat. "Stan, I can't do this. I can't discourage Tweek when Craig looks so fucking good."

Exasperated, Stan said, "We haven't given our approval yet. You can't—"

But Kyle ignored him by pointing a finger at me and commanding, "When you see his penis, I want a detailed report because I can tell you right now that you are going to be  _very_  lucky."

Just as my jaw unhinged, Thomas randomly stated a short series of numbers from over my shoulder. "Seven and a half, eight on a good day."

We all turned to glance at him curiously. "What?" I asked.

"Kenny's been waiting for me to tell you, and since we're talking about Craig's penis, I figured I'd go ahead and let you know." His eyes were glistening amusedly, staring right into me. My cheeks began to burn as I realized what seven and a half, eight on a good day meant. "And I'm quoting Kenny when I say this, so this is from the man himself: 'Craig actually likes to downplay his size. He'll say he's seven and a half, eight on a good day. But every time Craig manages to get a boner is a good day.' So Kyle's right. You are  _very_  lucky."

Kyle's forehead hit the tabletop. Stan's fell back against the booth. Thomas was giggling, and I couldn't take my eyes off the man talking to my parents. "Oh." Everything looked like it was going okay.  _That...is quite large._

Experience wasn't something I had, but I knew how to preference based on majority opinion. Rarely was he ever a sexual guy and he'd been gifted with  _that_  above-average size? I couldn't figure out whether I wanted to be terrified or turned on. In the back of my head I could hear Kenny sniggering, saying something along the lines of "Why don't figure out how well he can use it?"

"He's half an inch bigger than you." Kyle was speaking to Stan who hummed an affirmative numbly. "I think I officially give my approval."

After heaving a deep sigh, Stan craned his neck around until he spotted Craig.

I watched him watch the other, stuck in a strange in-between because my reaction was uncertain. My parents were attentive which was always incredibly weird to witness. There was no disrespect or skepticism in their eyes and Craig was leaning his hip against the counter comfortably. Both were good things, leading me to believe that maybe he really was a parent charmer.

Once Stan righted his body, he cast me a long, steady once-over. I was still focused on the neutral expression portrayed on Craig's profile and how sometime during all of this Thomas had made his way over to enter their conversation. "So he's the one?"

It took me a moment to process what Stan was asking, but when I did, my heart paused and my vision fell. Everyone always seemed to talk to me about Craig in terms of love and "the one" and I didn't know whether or not they understood the gravity of the implication attached to words and phrases like those.

It was undeniably true that I have had an insatiable, relentless obsession with him. I wasn't going to put it past me that this attraction could've possibly surfaced before puberty and hormones because I've always wanted everything to do with him in elementary school even. It wasn't impossible that he might be the only person I'd ever have such strong feelings for. I wanted to let him have the rest of my life—and I didn't care if that meant knowingly or obliviously—just like he had what could be called my childhood and teenage years. I could survive four of them without him, but I couldn't let that happen again.

The bare minimum I would take from now on would be friendship. I would sit in the fucking friend zone and guard that shit like no other. Anything less than that and I wouldn't allow it. But the bare minimum wasn't something I was going to worry about because there was more to gain and that was what I wanted. I wanted everything that was more than friendship. I wanted years of Craig's life and I wanted to be close to him all the time and I wanted to give myself these things because Craig made me do scary things—good things like want, and attempt, and take.

If that was what Stan meant by "the one" and if that was what Kenny meant when he placed love and Craig Tucker in the same sentence, then that was what it would be. There wasn't anything along lines like those that could be definable but anyone could guess and that just so happened to be theirs. I've just been guessing for my entire life it seemed, and when Craig reached out to shake my dad's hand and when he leaned down to hug my mom, those few gentle exchanges made me a small fraction more certain. It was rare for her to accept the invitation of another—physicality was exclusively for me when I needed it, not even including her own husband—and the sight of the interaction between the two was something that I liked very much.

When Craig turned around entirely, our eyes immediately connected. His fluid turn hadn't left me enough time to conceal the numerous thoughts spinning throughout my head, and as he began to walk over, I was still stuck revolving around the idea of "the one". It made me want to tell him that he should hug my mom more often, to come back to South Park a couple more times, and that Stan and Kyle needed to see that he wasn't just an attractive asshole. That they didn't know the same version of him that I did.

"Ready to go?" He asked, smirking down at me because of course everything was fine. He was right and my parents were now both charmed and reassured.

I nodded dumbly and got out of the booth. "I—uhm." It was hard to look at him when he was everything that I wanted all the time. "We need to get my stuff—a-at my house."

"Yes, we do," he agreed, smiling wider. "Are you planning on doing that in your apron?"

"Huh?" I looked up at him and quickly down. My green Tweak Bros. apron was still tied to my chest. "Oh, uh."

Before I could reach around to untie the knot with shaky fingers, Craig's knuckles were grazing my back as he did it instead. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling as he explained shortly, "Gotta keep up my gentlemanly appearance."

"That's a great job you're doing. Are you going to carry me out of here, too?" I teased, grinning up at him when he made to slip the halter of the apron over my head.

"I could," he agreed, shrugging nonchalantly. "But I don't want to overdo it."

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to impress my parents  _too_  much." Just as I took the apron from him, Thomas came over and took it from me.

He enveloped me in a hug to say goodbye, mouth pressed firmly against my ear. "He cares about you," he whispered, tightening his hold. My heartbeat became heavy. "You should've heard what he was asking your parents. He wanted to know everything so that he could take care of you the way that you need." To remain inconspicuous, the golden blonde pulled away, bumped our foreheads together, and kissed me lightly. "Have fun on Halloween, okay?"

Hopefully Craig missed his wink as he left to put the apron away.

Before we could make a safe exit, Stan had to remove himself from the booth and come over to stand before Craig. Kyle followed, though much less intrusive. I couldn't help but notice that Stan was just a bit shorter than his raven haired opposite and thought to myself that Craig just seemed to be that much bigger than him in all aspects. My blush spread at the surprisingly vulgar thought.

"I definitely could've managed without seeing you again," Craig said. "But small towns usually means you have to run into someone shitty, so that just fucking sucks for me." And that was his goodbye.

Stan's smile was pretty much forced, an uplift of his lips that I wasn't sure I liked. "Actually," he mused. "What do you think about having dinner with me and Kyle tonight?"

My stomach dropped because there was no way that he had just asked that. _  
_

"You know what?" Craig's smirk was crooked, competing against Stan's. "I have to check in on my parents anyway and it's late enough as it is." To me he suggested, "Why don't we just head back to my place tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" I echoed. "But w-where are you going to stay?"

"Your house," he answered simply.

Everything inside of my head exploded. I couldn't get a grip on my fluttering pulse. This was too surreal for someone like me who couldn't distinguish imaginary from reality. How was it possible that this was happening? This was what I wanted and out of nowhere here Craig was literally telling me how it would be.

"Okay," I breathed, blinking up at him as though trying to disperse this airy, wondering feeling.


	41. Chapter Forty-One

_A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen._

—Edward de Bono

* * *

The plan was originally to stop by Tweek's house so that he could grab some medication since he hadn't anticipated visiting my old home which was excusable because the Tuckers could be an intimidating family. It ended up being a ploy just so the blonde could escape the inevitable:  _meeting_  my intimidating family. He then began continuously attempting to refuse the invitation, claiming he's seen my parents enough times to know who they were.

"You know that it's only fair for you to meet my parents since I did yours."

"I've met your mom before, dude! Just come back to my house once you're done." He was literally stuck to his mailbox, arms wound tightly around the post. I had my fingers hooked through a few of his belt loops and was tugging on him at random intervals to hopefully catch him off guard and tear him away.

"Good. Then it won't be awkward," I said. He looked over his shoulder to glare at me. "Come on, Tweek. You'll love my sister. She's a girl just like you."

"Now I'm definitely not going anywhere."

"I was kidding." My hands flattened out against his body before slipping up the expanse of his chest. "Obviously these aren't boobs."

To shake me off, he twisted away from me and commanded, "Don't touch me."

I grinned and pressed my mouth against the back of his head. "That's not what you want," I told him, lowering my voice and my lips to the shell of his ear.  _I'm what you want. You do want me to touch you._  The expansion of his chest as he inhaled stunted when my fingers traveled back down, sliding along his stomach and running down the fronts of his thighs. When they came up, I slipped one of my hands between his legs. His arms immediately slackened. I stepped back and brought him with me, pressing his body against mine.

My palm dipped, rubbing against the front of his jeans. The blonde's breath fled quickly. I easily noted the slight thrust of his hips, the way he tipped his head back, and the rapid flutter of his lashes. An amused hum from my lips vibrated against his ear, alerting him to his predicament as well as our location. He pushed away from me and punched my arm. "You jerk!" He dove for the mailbox again, but I grabbed him from around the waist and hauled him toward my car. "No! Stop it! Craig, please!"

Ignoring his cries, I flung the door open and shoved him inside. " _Shh,_ " I suggested, leaning in to kiss him. He allowed me this and I found that I had kind of missed his mouth. There was a plush softness to it that formed to my own. Not only that, but we were familiar with  _how_  the other kissed. We were synchronized, the time of our movements cohesive.

It wasn't planned, but I got closer, nipping at his bottom lip as I caged him against the seat. His hands reached for my shoulders, one threading through my hair. The sensation of his fingers rekindled with my locks irked me into realizing that I'd missed that, too. I didn't want it to go away again. He tipped his chin up and drew me further into the car, clinging to my shirt and the back of my head. Complying, I rested one knee against the seat cushion.

When Tweek's lips parted next, our tongues grazed, inclining me to mesh our mouths together. He arched in a way that tried to bring our bodies as near as our tongues. I dropped one of my hands to the column of his throat because I'd been right: he wanted me to touch him. My fingers drifted, tracing the loose collar of his shirt where I pushed it off his shoulder and covered his skin with the palm of my hand. It was smooth and warm, similar to his mouth and the puff of his breath. His hold on my hair clenched, nails lightly scraping across my scalp. It sent goosebumps down my arms and as a sort of reward or maybe just for my own benefit I tucked my hand beneath his shirt.

He exhaled shakily, skin trembling under the pads of my fingers as they wandered along his side and across his chest. Weeks without physical contact of this sort must've made him impatient because he felt for my free hand and put it with the other. I was surprised by his nobility and chuckled against his tongue, framing his waist and dragging my hands up the course of his ribcage. My shirt rode up due to the responsive fisting of his fingers and I wondered if he was thinking that he could take my shirt off just like I was thinking that  _I_  could take my  _own_ shirt off.

It was noticeable, however small, when his hand tugged just the barest bit forward. He took my flannel with it that sparse inch. I could feel how tentative he was, how his mouth lagged as he began to over-think decisions that should've come naturally. To distract him, I circled my thumbs into his skin and hiked his shirt up higher. Momentarily, he forgot his thoughts and flicked his tongue against my own, breathing harshly through his nose. I pushed him against the seat, half climbing into the car so that I could settle my knee between his thighs.

Just the presence of it tempted him and he wound his arms around my shoulders in a struggle to bring me closer. His teeth pinched my bottom lip, and as he sucked, he stroked his tongue across the skin. My hold on him plunged toward his hips where I held him firmly and lifted him onto my bent leg. He moved effortlessly, sitting in a way that brought our chests together. I raised my hands, removed his shirt. The blonde pulled away to pant and I used that as an excuse to trail my lips down his jawline, leaving openmouthed kisses as I went. His head turned, neck outstretched in automatic welcome.

Only a few nips were given before I had to let him choose how this was going to work. "We can either stop right now," I told him, shifting my palms around to his back to press him closer. "Or we can go inside where I'm sure I can persuade you to reconsider meeting my parents."

Tweek groaned for a reason that had absolutely nothing to do with our intimacy. "You're going to make me go either way, aren't you?"

Against his neck, I murmured a quiet affirmative.

"Fine," he sighed. "Let's just go to your house."

"Awh." I feigned a look of disappointment as I buckled him in. "No making out in your room? I'm getting old, dude. I want to feel like I'm fifteen again."

His cheeks took on a pink hue. It occurred to me then that a scenario like that has probably run through his imagination multiple times throughout the duration of this crush. "Fuck no. No kissing, no touching, no anything inside of my house. My parents would slaughter both of us."

"Okay," I grumbled, still feigning sodden emotions. As I bent down to pick up his shirt, he punched me in the shoulder to snap me out of it. At the attack, my mood immediately shifted. "I like this top. It makes you look all cute and tiny."

"Then why'd you take it off?" He snorted, snatching it from my grasp.

"Because I like what's beneath it better." Tweek gawked at me as I winked and shut the door. I laughed on my way to the other side of the car because that had honestly been a pretty gay line. The blonde was still trying to keep himself together by covering himself up as I started the car and backed out of his driveway.

Driving through South Park just made me feel downright  _off_. Like I was traveling through a neighborhood of memories, reliving them in a sense. I passed phantom images of me walking down the sidewalk or traveling in just the other lane. The only thing was that a few details weren't quite right. Certain buildings, houses, and shops I distinctly remembered four years ago were either gone or replaced. The dinky restaurant I'd gotten my first job at was now a quick-stop mechanic's and a few fast food joints had switched themselves around to find better business in different locations even though they were all technically the same.

It wasn't that I missed this town, but it was strange seeing it continue on without me, Clyde, and Token. When I was younger, I had always thought of the three of us as being vital to the town's progression. We'd always been involved despite our—or at least my—reluctance. Maybe I'd just been conceited, though, because this place seemed to be doing fine in our absence. I was picking up a quaint feel from it, which was weird, because this messed up little place was anything but.

My parents weren't going to know what to think when they saw me. It was  _their_  job to visit  _me_  since I had never expected to come back home, especially not for Tweek. Perhaps I'd finally get a scare out of my dad for once in my life. He was like the fearless man, and I guessed that was where I got my sense of blasé from. I could remember a time when I'd faked my death just to harp him. Even went through the trouble of getting an officer who was the a parent of a friend to break the terrible news. Problem was: he never fell for it. He told the officer to fuck off, both verbally and with a hand gesture, because that was the way the Tucker family did it.

As we continued down a familiar route, one that I was sure missed me as much as I missed it, I spoke to the quiet blonde who was gazing out the window. He'd never been to my house before so this would be a new experience for him. The Tucker's generally weren't a customary bunch. "On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you to meet my family?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "How excited were you to meet mine?"

"Ouch." My sarcasm was apparent. "My heart...it aches." The anticipation was putting him in a bad mood, though I was positive he's always wanted to meet my parents. He had the crush of all crushes on me; of course he wanted to be personally acquainted with them. "I was pretty goddamn excited. A high nine, I'd say. Your mom totally thinks I'm cute."

He refused to drop his attitude at my assumption. "Yeah, well so does Kyle. And Thomas. Stan was a bit wooed by you, too."

"Oh yeah?" I grinned and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "And what about you?"

The apples of his cheeks began to change color and he turned his head away to keep me from noticing too late. "What about me?"

"Do you think I'm cute?" He tried to close the conversation by staying quiet, but I wasn't finished yet. "You're too afraid to admit it, but you do. You wouldn't kiss me otherwise."  _You wouldn't like me so much otherwise._ As he grew disgruntled, upset by my straightforwardness, I said, "I think you're cute, too."

For a moment he simply sat there. The blonde might've been content to leave things like that, or possibly just humbled by my confession. Instead, he smiled and contradicted me by saying, "No, you don't." He waited for me to glance at him before adding, "You think I'm beautiful."

That was clearly something he took pride in, and that was okay, because I had no shame. My lips spread into a smirk. "I think you're very beautiful."

Quietly, he asked, voice lost beneath his breath, "What's your f-favorite thing about me? L-Like, which feature is my best?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me," I bargained. Tweek rolled his eyes, agreeing easily enough. This was going to be good. "You're short, but your body is long. It's feline, which is attractive to me."

"Oh." He perked up in his seat, a reaction that satisfied me. "I—uhm. I guess" — _he_ guesses; _that's hilarious—_  "I like… Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I like the change between you from before and you now. You're uh—aging process? Sweet Jesus, this is coming out all wrong. You changed a lot. Like, you were kind of rebellious before and now you just look really classy. It's t-tasteful? Like—fuck, I just like it."

"You like that I look like a gentleman?"

Flustered by my question, he stuttered out a frazzled, "Yeah—uhm—I—It's. You're just a good looking dude."

"And that's my best feature?"  _Just wait until you see my dick._

"Jesus Christ, Craig." A blunt redness shot through Tweek's face. "I was trying to skirt past that because I like your hips. Your hips are really fucking nice, okay?"

He was so angry and it was so cute that I couldn't help but laugh. I knew he liked my hips and I knew he liked me both from before and now and I knew that he liked everything about me. It was just so funny getting a rise out of him because he made it so easy.

"Okay." I assented, nodding my head as I turned onto a road overrun with nostalgia. The car slowed in time with the sentimentality that took me by surprise by consuming me entirely. "Fuck." I could see my house cresting the others and everything was so recognizable that four years had done absolutely nothing. The thick-trunked tree with its gimp branch was still in my neighbor's yard. My dad still owned the same massive truck. Everything was as it has always been.

There was a mere second somewhere inside of me that never moved. It stayed in South Park and went to the community college down the street. I taught my sister how to drive and let her sneak out in the middle of the night with just her permit, and even though I was still here, the circumstances connecting Tweek and I were going to put us together anyways because that was just the way it was supposed to happen. Sometimes people met each other regardless.

Parking in my driveway ended up being the strangest ordeal of a life time. Did my car remember the driveway? Had it missed the hulking figure of my dad's truck or the blocky frame of my mom's Jeep? It was weird thinking of it as both my mom's  _and_  my sister's now. She'd been fourteen when I left— _not_  old enough to drive. "What the fuck," I breathed, confounded and cradling my head as I got out of the car. I started toward the front door with a very strange numbness orbiting through my body. Tweek's boots scrabbled along behind me, background noise compared to the hollow sound of my return.

I didn't even bother knocking because I knew the door would be open. The smell that hit me as I walked in instantaneously connected with a nerve. There was a smile on my face that I couldn't rein in. It was a mixture of my dad's cologne, my mom's laundry detergent, and my sister's signature fragrance. All it was missing was the light scent of my shampoo.

"Holy shit, dude." Tweek met my over-the-shoulder glance with a tentative smile. Just as I righted my head and entered the living room, I saw one thing and exclaimed far more sternly: "Holy shit, dude!"


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

_Recalling days of sadness, memories haunt me. Recalling days of happiness, I haunt my memories._

—Robert Brault

* * *

My sister was on the couch with a boy.

I knew from experience that it was easy to slip intimacy past my parents, even in the goddamn living room. They were just a trustworthy set of folks with confidence in their children. No STD's or jizz on the remote control and everything was good.

But this was my baby sister and that was a young man who she was on top of. That was a hand under her shirt and that hand could only go one place because I  _knew_  where boys liked to put their hands and their mouths and their wieners and none of that was going to be anywhere near Ruby.

Tweek ran into my back, hands braced at my waist to keep himself upright. My sister's fluffy head of strawberry blonde locks flung around and she landed hard on the floor, knocking her elbow against the coffee table where she swore and cried out, "Craig! What the hell?"

The fall she took left her little boyfriend confused and startled. This generation of Tucker children had been gifted with good genes so it was only fair for her chestnut haired boy to be an alright looker as well. He had that indie look to him: ringlet locks, rich eyes, a soft complexion. His appearance made me want to beat him up and I didn't think he'd have the muscle to defend himself. Not with his shirt gone, exposing the skinny configuration of his torso.

He took one look at me and his foggy expression fell. I smiled grimly and stepped toward the foot of the couch. "Hello," I greeted, holding out my hand.

We waited as he situated himself into a respectable position. Grasping my hand, he cleared his throat and asked, "Craig, right?"

His wimpy shake made my lips thin. "The only thing you need to know is that I'm big brother."

"Stop trying to scare him," Ruby grunted, coming to a stand. I gave her a once-over just to make sure her bra was still on. She rolled her eyes at me. "Thanks for being an asshole."

"I'm going outside. Tell your boyfriend to get out of here. This is a family reunion and he's not a part of it," I ordered. Tweek was already on his way into the entrance hall when I started to follow.

"Yeah? Well what about  _your_  friend?" She called after me.

"I didn't catch him trying to get into your pants!" Before I was even outside, there was a cigarette and a lighter held up to my face. I plopped down on the porch swing only to find that nothing from my past felt quite the same anymore. It wasn't enamoring and it didn't fill me with wonderment. All it really did was make me want to know why my sister had to grow up and meet boys and bring them home and then try to get with them on the couch and let me walk in on them the one time I ever made it home.

As Tweek fell into the seat next to me, our thighs touching and our shoulders brushing, he said, "That was nice to come home to."

Deeply, I inhaled through the filter of my cigarette and sat back as I let the smoke out. My hand just kind of did it on its own when it grabbed the blonde's and laced our fingers together. "You're lucky you don't have any sisters to worry about. It fucking sucks."

"He looked like a nice kid." I gave him a pointed stare. He giggled awkwardly. "He looked like a rapist."

"Sounds about right," I agreed, physically aware of my eyes losing their edge. Tweek looked into them, his green ones exuberant. His fingers tightened around my knuckles, and whether or not he liked it, I blew smoke into his face because I didn't want to look away. He didn't seem to mind, eyelids fluttering to keep from getting smokeye.

God, he was cute. I leaned forward and pecked his cheek, feeling it warm beneath my lips. He turned his head until our foreheads pressed together, noses rubbing. A weightless feeling harnessed my lungs as he wiggled the nip of his nose against mine and I forgot about my cigarette as this time I kissed his mouth. The blonde sighed contentedly, scooting closer so our lips would latch. Flicking away the unfinished length of my cigarette, I raised my hand and settled it against the back his head.

I don't think he meant for it to happen, but our hands slipped between my legs, and the presence of them against my thighs nearly seduced me. Tweek must've noticed because pressed a little closer and breathed a little faster. I pulled back and fixed the placement of our hands, inwardly smug at the highly embarrassed color of his skin. He kicked his feet out to start the swing, using that as an excuse to occupy his attention and time. This was the best form of entertainment ever. My thumb began to absentmindedly stroke his hand.

"So what do you think about my sister?" I asked.

"She's a pretty girl," he said. "You both have the same eyes." Ice blue was a Tucker trait, though mine and my grandfather's were the lightest to date.

"Are green eyes hereditary in your family?"

Shrugging his shoulders, the blonde considered my question. "I suppose. My mom's are green, but I don't remember meeting any relatives with the same color. I think my grandma's were hazel."

"Hazel's nice," I mused. "Varying shades and tones. But I like yours better. You wouldn't be the same if yours were hazel."

"Thank you," he squeaked, trying hard to control his lips as he glanced down at our hands. "Y-Yours are—" I hunkered closer and cocked my head to the side to see his face more clearly. A fleeting smile flitted past his mouth as he raised his gaze momentarily, dropping it quickly. "They're n-nice, too."

The door opened and Tweek leaned away from me. His speed was too suspicious and he made to tug his hand out of mine, but I kept a resilient hold on his fingers. My sister's boy stepped outside, taking a quick look in my direction as he excused himself before starting down the steps. He better had felt my eyes bore into him as I let him get away unscathed.

Unscathed only up until he hit the sidewalk where I called out: "The second you fuck with my sister, I'm coming for you."

I stood and took the blonde back inside with me, but my return had already been ruined and the smell was just same-old now. I found Ruby in the kitchen opening herself a can of soda. After leading Tweek through first, I released his hand and placed the two of us at the kitchen table. My sister did the same.

"I don't like him," I told her, expressing the blunt truth with a flat look on my face.

"Why?" She asked disinterestedly, sipping from her Pepsi which was just another Tucker quirk of ours. Coke was blasphemy.

"Because he was touching you." Her eyes rolled dramatically. "Yeah, pretty sure he just wants to put his nasty little wiener all over you."

"Well, sorry I'm not asexual like you."

Tweek and I made eye contact. It was quite a humorous moment.

"You haven't had sex with him, have you?" I inquired, narrowing my eyes accusatively.

"Nope. Pretty sure that now I won't either. Thanks for that." My sister and I shared a sarcastic glance.

"You're still a virgin, right?" Ruby nodded her head. "Good. Let's keep it that way." A comfortable moment of silence took place, interrupted when I asked, "You wouldn't happen to have his nudes by any chance, would you?" Her answer was to reach into her pocket for her phone. I clapped my hands together a good few times. "That's as classy as it gets, Rubes." Just as she readied the photo and stretched her arm out to give it to me, I said, "Here. Tweek's gay. Let's get a professional opinion."

I quirked my brows at him and motioned for him to take her phone. The blonde clucked his tongue and shook his head, but took it, and then looked down. "How big is he?"

"Six and a half inches."

He only needed a second to come to a consensus. "Eh. You're not doing too bad."

The phone was passed down to me and on the screen I saw a classic nude shot of the male genitalia and cracked up laughing. Nothing was better than a good old fashioned nude. "Man, this kid sure knows how to make me get hot."

Ruby snatched her phone back and shoved it deep into her pocket. She spat, "Since when do you care?"

"I'm your brother," I stated. "I care all the time."

"Then it's nice to see that you've grown up." Her vehemence toned down a notch. "I care, too."

"I know you do."

"And I'm happy you came back. Even if you had to embarrass me to do it." She grinned as she got up from the table and shot a curious look at Tweek. "Keep my brother safe, alright?"

At the abrupt order, the only thing Tweek could manage on such short notice was a nod and a stunted "O—Okay."

My sister left the room then and I followed her out with the same look I'd gave her boyfriend since, in her opinion, I just wasn't capable of keeping myself "safe."

Once she was gone, Tweek returned from his stupefied state. "You'd make a good dad," he said. "...Have you ever thought about having kids?"

Not even the thought of impregnating a woman and taking care of a child was something that I could imagine. When I pictured my future in terms of family, it wasn't me that I saw. Token and Clyde would settle down and reproduce, but that wasn't going to be me. I wasn't disappointed by that outcome either. Not when it just _was_.

"No. I could think about it but it's not going to happen. Being a father and having a woman isn't my thing."

Tweek grinned cheekily. "Is this your way of telling me you're gay?"

 _You'd like that, wouldn't you?_  I matched his expression and said, "Shh. Don't go telling everyone my secret."

Without warning, heavy footsteps started down the stairs. The blonde's grin faltered and he grew tense in his seat. My dad's entrance must've sounded threatening and unusual to someone without a father as large as mine. To me, though, the repetitive thunk of his footfalls was homely. A childhood for me wouldn't be without the house shaking every time my dad left his room.

But Tweek didn't have to know that just yet. So I faked a look of concern, knitting my brows together. "Damn. He sounds pissed. I don't know if it was a good idea bringing you over." His face blanched and I could only hold the joke a second longer before I cracked a smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm just fucking with you, dude. My dad's practically tiptoeing right now compared to when he's angry." But that had been the wrong thing to say seeing as the blonde's skin paled further.

And then from the staircase we heard my dad bellow, " _Craigifer Drew._ "

 _Shit._  I had an epiphany right then. I suddenly knew what my worst fear was: full first names followed by middle names.

As a child, Craigifer Drew hadn't been a name. Craigifer Drew had meant that spanking was imminent. As a teenager, Craigifer Drew had meant getting my head thrown against the wall that first time I'd been caught smoking. Now, though, Craigifer Drew meant incomprehensible things because I've never been called that as an adult.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing coming back home?" His voice was getting closer and I stood from the table so that I could run if I had to. Tweek would just have to fend for himself. "I thought we kicked you out and got rid of you at eighteen!" That's when he came barreling into the kitchen, and I almost wanted to laugh at myself except I was about to release my bowels all over the place because my dad could take one step faster than I could lunge and he had me in the air before I could even understand the dilemma.

Gravity came rushing at me as he let me go. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from landing too harshly, a futile effort of mine. He let us fall as gracelessly and haphazardly as he could, sandwiching my limbs between his body and the kitchen floor. As he reached to grab one of my legs, I shoved him around until I could free myself. In his attempt to drag me by the ankles, I twisted roughly and grabbed his shoulders so I could wrestle him to the ground.

We grappled on the tile, trying numerous times to get leverage on each other by throwing elbows, kneeing guts, and jabbing fists. We aimed where we could and hoped to land a hit somewhere weak. It was harder to get my dad on either of his flat sides—stomach or back—than it used to be. Not that I've ever won a wrestling match between the two of us. He just had a counter attack ready for every offensive attack and I couldn't seem to get myself around his bulk. For being lanky and long-limbed, it wasn't as advantageous as I'd hoped. My dad had more girth than I remembered and I didn't have a second plan of action to fall back on.

With hinges as rusty as mine, our tousle ended prematurely due to my loss of breath and utter failure. I just laid on the floor and quit moving for a while. My dad got to his feet and plucked my body up off the floor before slinging me into a chair. He slapped my back so hard it felt as though my skin had welted. "That was a pussy round, boy." My dad went to grab two waters from the fridge and tossed one. "You getting fat down there in Lakewood or something?"

"Must be," I answered, wincing as I made to sit up higher. Beside me, Tweek was a still life form, reminding me of those paintings teachers liked to have their students do of fruit or vegetables. "Dad, meet Tweek Tweak. He's a homosexual and a virgin" — _and he wants my nuts_ — "so try not to rough him up too much."

The blonde appeared terrified by my warning. I didn't blame him. That ogre of a firecrotch was my  _dad_  and I was still scared of him. "H-hello."

"A Tweak, huh?" He sat down across from me, one grisly arm on the table. "Never thought you'd associate with that particular family." If Tweek was insulted, he did an wonderful job of concealing it. "Not after what happened in grade school."

My shoulders shrugged in indifference. "He's pretty neat." It didn't matter that he was sitting next to me or that he was listening. There was a reason as to why I was shameless. "I like the way he looks."

After inspecting the uncomfortable blonde, my dad nodded his head and said, "Yeah, you like the quirky ones." Tweek's customary blush marred his cheeks, but he should've waited to do so until my dad was finished speaking, because the next thing out of his mouth was: "You two being safe?"

 _You're getting his hopes up so high_ , I wanted to laugh. Instead, I shook my head and simply explained that we weren't having sex.

Then out of nowhere, arriving late was the last Tucker who showed up so opposite from my father that we hadn't even heard her come down the stairs.

"Guess what," my dad implied. It was rhetorical, so she ignored him and came around the table to give me a hug. It hadn't been a too terribly long time since I'd last seen my family, but it was hard not missing my mom even for a day. That was the one downside to Lakewood: it didn't include my mother. "Our son finally decided to introduce us to his boyfriend."

Actually, Tweek might've been living it up.

"Don't joke like that, Thomas. You're embarrassing him," she scolded. Tweek was both mortified and surprised when she came over to him and gave him a welcoming squeeze around the shoulders. "This is the sweet boy who gives you your coffee for free, remember? Keep talking and he'll charge you. I'd keep you outside if you started complaining about that."

Free coffee? My eyebrows practically flew from my forehead and the only way the blonde's widened eyes would be leaving the table was if I ripped them off. He looked like he was internally beating himself up and forcing himself not to strangle my mom by the way he was twitching in his seat.

Because Tweek Tweak gave my dad free coffee and he did it because my dad was  _my_  dad.

_You have it so bad for me, Tweek._


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

_The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you._

_—Rita Mae Brown_

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

We met up with Stan, Kyle, and Thomas at an Italian restaurant later that day, although just the spite the couple, Craig asked for a smoke break before we went inside and sat down.

"I'm addicted," he explained. "Introducing Tweek to my family was stressful. I need it."

Nobody bought his fake reasoning. "Dude, just shut up." I smiled wearily to let him know that I wasn't being serious. "If anyone needs to smoke, it should be me.  _Both_  of our parents think we're having sex."

The situation got everyone to laugh and helped lighten the mood. Craig nodded his head as though he understood me completely. "Try it then."

"No," Kyle objected. "Tweek's not trying anything. The last thing he needs is to take up smoking."

Craig rolled his eyes. "He's not going to like it. Smoking is an acquired taste." We were sitting on a bench located near a patch of flower bushes surrounding the building where he held out his cigarette. I looked down at it and then up at him questioningly. To be honest, I had no clue what I was supposed to do.

"Stop it," Stan snarled. "What did Kyle just say?"

"That the last thing Tweek needs is to take up smoking which he's not because what did _I_  just say?" Craig asked. "That he's not going to like it. He's going to cough and it's going to suck and he's never going to try it again." This time, he held the butt of the cigarette up to my mouth and I wrapped my lips around the filter despite Stan and Kyle's aggravation. "Inhale and hold it in your lungs. You don't have to do it for long, then you just let it out."

I did as instructed and inhaled what must've been a relatively large amount. The cherry at the other end crisped up and became ash. I don't think I did it right because I saw it as much as I experienced it and my throat and lungs felt like they were igniting just the same. Craig rubbed his hand across my back as I coughed out contamination and heaved in clean air over the side of the bench. My eyes were stinging and my mouth tasted bitter.

"What did I tell you?" He gloated. "Are you ever going to do it again?" I shook my head and tried to swallow past the burn in my throat. "Good. I don't want you to be a smoker anyways."

Thomas was grinning at me from the other bench and I watched him mouth  _You two are so cute_  in embarrassment.

"What was that?" Craig wondered.

My best friend smacked his lips together and shook his head innocently.

More than anything I wanted to slap my palm across my forehead in that moment, but then I realized that Craig still had his arm around me. He was prodding gently against the small of my back, twisting the material of my shirt between the pads of his fingers. It was such a nonchalant action that anyone could've thought of it as a regular occurrence and that alone caused my heartbeat to ricochet against my ribcage.

"Do C-Clyde or Token know we'll be there tomorrow instead of tonight?" I asked, unwilling to move a fraction incase he realized what he was doing and decided to stop.

"No, actually." He removed his hand despite my efforts  _because_  of my efforts so that he could retrieve his phone and dial one of their numbers. I was genuinely peeved, mentally slamming my face into the asphalt while he waited for someone to pick up. "Hey, hold on." After pressing a button on his phone, Clyde's voice gained volume and could be heard by all of us. "I've got you on speaker now. Say hi."

"No."

"I don't blame you," Craig professed. "I'm stuck here with two faggots and two homos. It fucking sucks." Stan and Kyle shook their heads at each other.  _Someone_  wasn't making a very good impression on them. "At least say hi to Tweek, though."

"No."

"Are you and your woman fighting?" His question released an onslaught of information, stuff of which I did  _not_  want to know or ever want to hear about, regarding Clyde and Pretty Lady's personal relationship including why they weren't getting along. Supposedly there was a mixup with her birth control and she was upset that they'd had to use a condom or something roughly along those lines. "Did she orgasm?" Clyde gave an affirmative. "Did you come?" Another affirmative. "Then it's all good."  _Genius._  I rolled my eyes. "I'm about to make your day worse, though."

"Fuck you, Tweek." That was the first thing Clyde said and he hadn't even been told that I  _was_  the reason yet.

"Yeah, pretty much." I gave Craig a look of disdain. He smiled at me and slung his arm around my shoulders, bringing me in close to his chest. "We'll be there tomorrow, alright? You can take my bed tonight if you have to." I pulled away until he could see me and shook my head in disagreement. My friends got a chuckle out of my objective reaction because they knew where I slept and that I didn't want anyone else sleeping in the same place. "Bros before hoes, dude. Sorry."

"He's going to jack off or something," I whimpered, trying to keep my voice down so that Clyde wouldn't hear.

But of course he did. "Hell yeah I'm going to jack off. I'm going to cream all over Craig's bed and you're going to sleep in it, asshole."

I frowned and made sure that Craig could see the disapproval all over my face. He tipped his head back and sighed. "Have mercy on me, Clyde. Don't make me buy new bedsheets."

"Oh?" The brunette was pissed. "Guess who had to buy the condoms." The line went dead.

"Hmm," Craig mused, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "This is going to suck, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, standing up when he flicked the dead butt of his cigarette and patted my back. He told me not to worry about it, that it wasn't a big deal, as we headed inside the restaurant with our small group. It smelled like marinara sauce and fresh salad.

"You know," Kyle started, following the hostess as she seated us at a booth near the back. "You could always  _not_  sleep in Craig's bed."

Annoyance tethered to me, and for what was probably the first time in my life, I wanted to glare at the redhead. Was it seriously necessary for him to say that? "No, he does. We're cuddle buddies. It's impossible to separate us when a bed is near." And then suddenly I loved Kyle all over again. He gave me an amused look to which I felt guilty. His intentions had been to get that out of Craig from the beginning.

We settled down in a both, me in my designated seat and Craig across from me. Stan and Kyle took my side while Thomas accompanied Craig's. It was a pleasant arrangement, I decided, and began to look over my menu. Conversation was silent minus a few questions about who was ordering what or which dish sounded more appealing than the rest. Restaurant foods weren't as appetizing to me as they were to others so I settled for a simple garden salad whereas I knew Craig would finish off everyone's meal including his own.

Once our orders were placed—Craig insisted we get two separate checks instead of four because he was feeling overly generous tonight and wanted to cover Thomas and I—he liked to do that: pay for dinner, a thing of which Thomas didn't mind since he was a mooch, but I had fought and lost against—regular conversation commenced. "Do Clyde and his girlfriend fight often?" I asked, though I felt like the answer would be no. They seemed to be a reasonable couple.

As I'd guessed, Craig shook his head. "The thing is that she's allergic to latex. It's happened before. She just doesn't like having to get super special condoms fit for her condition."

"Clyde has a girlfriend?" Stan asked, relatively surprised.

Craig nodded his head and grinned. It was cute how prideful he was over something that wasn't even his. "They've been going steady for about eight months now, I think."

"Yeah?" Stan scoffed. "So what the hell happened to you?"

"Are you implying that I can't keep a relationship?" Craig asked, clucking his tongue. "Moot point there, dude. I've never even been in a relationship."

In unison, Thomas and I asked, "You haven't?"

"Have you forgotten that I'm like ninety percent asexual? The only hope for me is another asexual retard or never again be sober. I'm a hormonal type of drunk."

Although he was partially joking, what he said didn't sit well with me. Was that what he needed, maybe even wanted? Someone else who was asexual? Because that certainly couldn't be me. I mean, I wanted everything to do with Craig sexually.

"So, what's the other ten percent?" Thomas asked. I wanted to send a look his way, but I was scared that Craig would intercept it.

"Probably nothing," came his vague answer. He sipped from his beer, a drink that I hadn't even known he'd had a taste for until he'd ordered it. "I'm not a relationship type of guy." And then his features deadened. His pupils contracted as though in pain and he swallowed hard—couldn't even look at me as he realized what he'd said.

I think that the only reason why I reacted the way I did was because of how apparent his guilt was. "It's okay," I murmured, half disconnected from the topic entirely. Craig couldn't even formulate a formidable apology because I then added, "I know that relationships aren't your thing. I know, Craig."

Except it was clear to all of us that Craig's "ability" was not one to be proud of nor mentioned. Even as he attempted to rationalize his meaning, my only response was to let go of the begrudging topic, and the only thing that that accomplished was to make Craig feel like an ass. An ass and a hypocrite because what the hell we were doing with each other? Flirting and kissing and relationship things.

"How experienced are you?"  _Jesus Christ, Kyle._  What the fuck was with these questions tonight?

Craig was reluctant to answer. "I've been around for twenty-one years, dude." God, I did not feel good. Queasy was a more accurate interpretation. "I'm not a Kenny or a Clyde...but" —he started to speak very slowly, almost uncertain whether or not this was the correct discussion he should be participating in while I was at the table— "I would say that I...guess...uh...have a pretty good...technique."

Kyle sat back, indulging in the conversation. "And we're speaking about when you party, right? Since you're a horny drunk?" When Craig nodded his head, his jaw worked through a sudden tightness. I think he might've actually been aggravated. "So you're good with women."

The niorette shrugged. "I know what I'm doing."

"Anal?" The redhead challenged.

From across the table, Craig fixed him with a steady gaze. "I know what I'm doing."

 _Oh, sweet mother of God_.

Our food was walked in on serving trays and placed before us where it was requested. Craig had gotten a hearty serving of something extremely Italian—I couldn't remember nor pronounce the name—that he'd never heard of or tried before. I wanted to blame the steam from my food on my blush except I kind of had a salad and it was actually pretty cold.

During his initial taste test, Craig's expression remained neutral and for an instant I thought that meant his food was just okay, but then he shared that it was delicious, and I realized just then how emotionally-impared he could be. This quirk of his was adorable to me and I tried to hide my smile behind a mouthful of lettuce.  _Just ignore the conversation, Tweek_.

"Do you want to try it?" He asked me, pushing around a few pieces of pasta. "I think there's meat in it, but there's mushrooms too. So I can just get the mushrooms and the noodles. And the sauce. Don't forget the sauce, idiot."

And there was just no denying that. Craig could be too sweet sometimes. So I agreed to try it and opened my mouth when he had a forkful ready for me. From across the table, he watched expectantly. There was cheese in the sauce that melted to combine with the thick flavor of the mushrooms and tomatoes. To keep him from waiting, I covered my mouth with my hand and said, "I like it."

I didn't catch him right away as I returned to my own dinner, but after a few bites and mindless sips from my drink, I noticed that he hadn't withdrawn his gaze. When I glanced up at him, the look in his eyes was the one he used for memorization and mental drawing. It occurred to me then that I wanted him to do something. In response to my remembrance, I felt myself wake up in a sense, and found it ridiculously interesting that Craig seemed to do the same. His expression became vivid and the color of his eyes flickered curiously.

"Before I forget, I want you to draw something so that everyone can see what you do and how good you are," I told him. He grabbed the attention of our waitress the next time she passed and asked her for some crayons and a sheet of paper. When they arrived, he asked what we'd like to see him draw; I suggested Stan and Kyle. Maybe it would return him to their side of approval. Without arguing something along the lines of having to draw homos or a pubehead, he cleared an area and started scribbling with a blue crayon. It probably wouldn't come out the clearest or the prettiest, but my friends would get the gist of Craig's talent.

As their images unfolded, the three new to this began sharing short comments on how it was coming along quite nicely, that they'd never expected this, and wow. I understood Craig's previously expressed pride towards Clyde in that moment because I was staring at him fondly now and listening to my friends chatter with an identical feeling of high esteem. He was so good at this and I wanted them to see what I did. I wanted them to know that he wasn't just a plain old asshole, but an asshole with talent and a direction and a purpose. That Craig had reasoning.

And when he was finished, they ogled over the image even though he'd drawn a penis heading toward Kyle's face and a fist aiming for Stan's.

* * *

"That went over well," Craig said on the way back to my house. It was dark by now and I wasn't sure whether he was referring to dinner, everyone's civil interactions, the picture, or how he and Stan had actually shook hands before leaving.

"Yeah," I agreed, figuring he meant everything. "They're going to keep that picture forever, you know. Even if they hate you."

Craig grinned sardonically. "Well, when I'm famous, they can say they got to be my first official customers." The two had given him a quarter as a gag joke for drawing them.

When I thought of fame and official artwork, I thought of signatures, and I wondered how his name would look on his pieces which led to me pondering his name in general. "Craigifer Drew Tucker?" I asked, testing the name out on my tongue. It mulled over in the back of my throat like a mixture between dinner and the cigarette, something both strange and nice.

"Hey, be careful with that. It wields a mighty power." He scowled. "It's kind of like my weakness."

My eyes bugged out at his confession. "When your dad calls you Craigifer Drew?  _That's_  your weakness?"

"What—no!" He started laughing the most hysterical sounding laughter that I'm sure he could manage. "I meant—God no. Not my  _dad,_  dude. And not Drew."

"I'm confused," I admitted, laughing because he was laughing.

We were stopped at a red light when he told me, "Not many people know that my name is Craigifer, so when they do and they say it, it kind of turns me on. Not just in an everyday conversation, you know? It has to be intimate."

 _Oh._  I knew what turned him on now. The car was suddenly a little hot and maybe a little stuffy and I sort of wanted to see just how weak his full name could make him. "I-It's a nice name."

He turned onto the street that would eventually curve and lead us to my house. It would approach quickly, and I knew how it would be when we got there. My parents would be home and things would be confined. "There's a ring to it, I guess."

The slight curve was nearing and I didn't know how far my parents' surveillance spread, but that didn't matter because my mouth suddenly had a mind of its own. That or my libido had taken over. "I don't know exactly what to expect at my house. I don't know what sleeping arrangements will be like or how nosy my parents will be. We can't do anything when we're there, though. You can't kiss me or touch me, not even little things."

At my sudden outburst, Craig took his foot of the gas and listened as his car trolled along the side of the road. We had just breached the start of the curve and I had yet to see my house tucked between all of the others. The engine stopped and the niorette let his hands fall into his lap.

I sat there for a second, on edge in the silence and in tune to the way the moon flickered off reflective surfaces outside. My skin was prickling with temptation and knowledge and all I wanted was to crawl into his lap and whisper his name into his ear.

That's when he asked, "Do you want to move to the back?"

Fingers trembling slightly, I wrapped them around the latch of my seatbelt and pushed down on the tab to release it. Instead of letting it snap back, I withdrew it slowly and wondered if my breath could be heard in the quiet of Craig's car. I could feel him watching me, the weight of his eyes causing me to shiver. At the same time we moved toward the center, except the two of us weren't going to fit through the seats together.

"You first," he said, staring down at my mouth. I wet my lips and scooted closer despite his suggestion. His breath fanned out across my lips and I had just tipped my chin up, mine and his nearly brushing. "The back will be more comfortable."

Nodding my head, I pulled away and slipped between the seats. When my face was turned, a breathless smile overshadowed me. I had to bite my lip to keep it contained. All I could possibly think was  _Craig and I are going to do something in his car. I don't know what, but something's going to happen_.

Craig stepped through in tandem and caged me against the backseat to situate himself. His arms were covered by the sleeves of his flannel but I liked what was underneath and I wanted to touch him. I didn't want to be shy all the time and I didn't want him to have to do everything. So with an uneven breath, I set my hands on his wrists and slid them up to his shoulders, fingers wrapping around and feeling the shape and muscle of his arms beneath the fabric.

Drawing our bodies closer, he dipped his head and ran his lips along the curve of my jaw. He bypassed my mouth completely and clamped his lips around a section of my throat. My arms slipped around his neck as I turned my own in a submissive gesture. His tongue swathed my skin before moist, openmouthed kisses were peppered down the expanse of my skin. Reaching my collar, Craig nipped at the bone and snagged the hem of my malleable top, pushing it off my shoulder. One of his hands slipped around to my back where he ghosted his palm across the dip of my exposed shoulder blade.

It felt like this wasn't enough, though. The brief touch of his hands distanced from the rest of my torso, kept away due to my shirt, was too little. I wasn't satisfied, even with him sucking and lavishing my shoulder with his mouth. I'd been naked the last time something substantial had happened, and despite my humiliated modesty, I didn't want to be wearing clothes  _now_ either. But I felt like there was a point that needed to be reached—a time limit or sign—before clothes could be removed. But waiting wasn't appealing to me. Especially with Craig's fingers drifting teasingly beneath my shirt as though he knew my distress and wanted to make it worse.

We didn't  _have_  any time to spend and I didn't know how long it would take for a sign to appear, not with my parents knowing that I was out with a guy past dark. That's why I grabbed the hem of my own shirt and tugged it over my head, leaving my hair disheveled and a self-surprised breathlessness to my body. That's why I twisted my fingers around the buttons on his flannel and lost control of my hands as they travelled down his chest. I was too distracted by the thought that I've never—in this way—felt his body before, that he was warm where my fingers happened to brush. I left him to finish undoing the buttons himself, eyes stuck on the revealing of his skin growing wider and longer.

He'd always been at my disposal; it was just that my own hindering fears had damaged my curiosity. I'd been scared for irrational reasons to give him the same treatment that he did me, but it was only fair that I touched and kissed him back. Clearly I _wanted_  to. My hands weren't itching to fling his shirt off his shoulders and my eyes weren't trying to ingrain his lean figure into my brain for no reason. The reaction of my body to the mere sight of his own was proof enough. God, there must've been something wrong with me tonight if all of my fears just suddenly weren't present.

The way Craig rolled his shoulders out, allowing his sleeves to hang from his arms and expose the entirety of his chest made me swallow thickly. He removed it completely and slung it over the back of the seats before leaning forward to attach our mouths. It was immediate when my hands reached forward, connecting with his flesh to eagerly feel for the planes of his collar, ribcage, and abdomen. His hipbones pressed into my palms and our kiss turned demanding, all breath and spit as he encompassed my waist and eased me closer. My limbs wrapped around his back where I grabbed the wide berth of his shoulders and pressed our chests together.

The sensation of him breathing against me, of his stomach pushing and receding, made my body ignite. I nicked his skin with my nails as I registered the presence of his thighs against the fronts of mine. His hands were trailing down the small of my back, roaming over the slight rise of my rear, causing the back of my neck to prickle and my pulse to race, when the sound of my phone receiving a text message interrupted the lure of the moment.

It was obvious that he'd grinned against my mouth before leaning back, though his hands remained. He had half-mast eyes and glossy lips because of me, an expression that I liked so much, I followed his recede and rubbed my palms against his sides as I kissed the corner of his mouth. Turning a fraction to align our lips, Craig dropped his hands into my pockets the rest of the way and tugged our lower halves together. A small noise unintentionally escaped me, swallowed by our lips and a second tinkling of my phone followed in suit.

"It's my parents," I sighed. They tended to grow paranoid when I didn't answer right away. It was in our genetics.

"Parents are always convenient," Craig lied, taking one his hands and retrieving my phone from my front pocket. Maybe this was karma for walking in on his sister.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

_I want to use different styles or a vocabulary of styles, as a writer uses different words. I think it is part of the technique of painting to be able to adapt yourself to different styles._

—David Hockney

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

There were only a few things better than sleeping in my bed with Craig and one of those was spending a two hour long car ride with him. For being a fan of boredom, he was  _very_ entertaining. Not only to me but to everyone around him. Although actually, he was probably more like one colossal embarrassment: singing belligerently with the windows down, trying to get others to participate when I adamantly refused, sticking his middle finger out and holding it there while passing someone by and attempting to hold conversations with people on the sidewalk.

He liked to know what people were doing and where they were going, said that it blew his mind to think about why people were heading in the same direction as him all at the same time and that it was extra incredible when he and someone else happened to arrive at the same place. It became a very psychological speech that half intrigued me and half scared me because I wondered the same things. I hadn't known that Craig did, too. He didn't come across as the type of guy who second guessed situations, especially coincidental ones.

As we got closer to his town, we stopped at a drive-through where all of the employees were in costume. None of them were in full head-to-toe garb―not like Santa or the Easter Bunny―and nobody was a zombie or a clown or anything of the scary sort so I managed not to feel fear throughout the short stop. I was then forced into feeding him his fries as he drove the rest of the way home, though it wasn't like I minded.

Halloween has never been a likable holiday for me. It was terrifying and distinctly smelled of pedophiles, rapists, and murderers. My only worry with this party was if someone showed up in a realistic costume. Sexy women in skimpy dresses and men dressed as jocks or the Flintstones were perfectly fine. It was the Freddy Krugers and villains I wouldn't be able to control myself around.

"I don't think I ever told you my idea for Halloween," he randomly said as I nibbled on one of his french fries distastefully. Fast food was gross. "I was going to face paint everyone a different animal. Like Clyde and Pretty Lady are going to be a chipmunk and a squirrel. Token's going to be a panther and I was thinking of being a dog. I want to do you too, so I just thought I'd let you know first."

A costume of my own wouldn't change my opinion on the holiday. No matter who I pretended to be, I was still filled with the same basic terror. I didn't like wearing masks or putting on low quality clothing, but face paint would be acceptable. All I'd have to do is wash it off.

"Okay," I agreed, crossing my legs in the passenger seat that was slowly becoming uncomfortable. "What animal d-do I get to be?"

"We could be opposites," Craig suggested. "I'll be the dog and you can be the cat."

My lips twisted into a smirk. "That sounds cute."

"I know, right? I'm just the cutest dude ever." I rolled my eyes at his conceited remark. "Do you want to get your hair done? My hair needs some styling if I want to remain at the top of my rank. Like maybe a quiff."

"You want a quiff?" I snorted, shaking my head while he nodded his. "What are you, a greaser? I thought you wanted to be a d-dog." He frowned. "Your hair is too long for that, anyways."

Craig grumbled stubbornly. "Fine. Modified-quiff. Do you want to get your hair done or not?"

"Are you t-trying to tell me that I need a haircut?"

"Nope." He reached out and ruffled my feathered blonde locks. "We can just get it styled for the party since, you know, I can get it done for free and all."

To be honest, a free styling sounded pretty luxurious, but I didn't want Craig to know that his job at the salon wasn't as stupid as it used to be, so I kept my expectancy quiet. "Styled how?"

"As if I have any kind of idea."

Except it turns out that he did, because that's how I ended up with Marla Singer's hairstyle from Fight Club. The one with the little Dr. Seuss-like Who hair tie at the top.

The girl who styled it had liked the texture and frazzled disarray of my hair so much that she hadn't wanted to do much to it. She'd tried to find a style similar to my own and Craig's suggestion of Marla had ended up being the one to stick.

He was working a palmade into it, ignorant towards the fact that I already  _had_  a stylist, to muss the strands and push them around my head. They stuck up where they pleased, regardless of direction or gravity. The three of us were looking at it in the rectangular mirror set within the girl's styling station. My opinion wasn't sure which direction it wanted to go. It wasn't that I didn't like what was done to me; I just felt more gay than usual.

Craig in comparison was such a man. His hairstyle was subtle, refined but noticeably sleek. It framed his face and highlighted the contours of his masculinity.

And then there was me: the gay blonde boy with Marla Singer's cute poof at the top. "You don't think I l-look extra homosexual?" I asked him uncertainly, flicking a few stray locks around my forehead.

"You look adorable." My face was an inferno. Wonderful. Right in front of his coworkers, too. "I like it."

"O-okay, then." The only reason why I was relenting was because he was content.

Satisfied, he clamped his hands down around my shoulders and gave me a little shake. "Let's get out of here, then. We were supposed to be back an hour ago." Turning to the girl, he thanked her for the both of us and perhaps she would be at the party because she said she'd see us later. Getting out of the salon in general was a bit harder. Craig was a likable guy and everyone had to get in their individual goodbyes. I was nailed by numerous compliments before finally making it outside.

"Are you p-purposefully trying to get Clyde to kill me?" I whimpered. He was already upset at me for holding Craig's return back an entire day. His hatred was raising my anxiety levels. God, why had I thought it would be a good idea not to take any of my medication today?

And then I remembered that I'd be getting wasted tonight and had to tell myself for a second time that my medication and alcohol weren't allowed to mix.

"Of course not," Craig said. It was probably a lie. As we settled back into his car and began the last trip back to his apartment, he added, "Everyone thought you were the sweetest little thing in there."

My brows knit, but my stomach was bubbling humbly. "Really?"

"Yeah. When you were getting your hair done, they all came up to me and told me how cute you were. They want me to bring you back."

"That―" I didn't know what to say. That I was flattered? That it didn't matter to me if everyone he worked with thought I was cute just as long as he did too? "That's n-nice of them."

"That's  _nice_  of them?" He repeated, glancing at me amusedly. "Tweek, you know that you're good looking, right?"

Getting called good looking from Craig won out over all of his coworkers calling me cute. Compliments from him were the ones that made me blush. "That's not what you said last time," I teased.

The look he gave me was accusative. It said that I was taking advantage of him. "Well, aren't I just  _so_  sorry. I meant to say beautiful."

Flattered was now an understatement.

* * *

I already had a pretty catlike appearance with my straight nose and angular eyes, but by the time Craig was finished with me, I was  _literally_  a cat. Not even a regular house cat but a  _tiger_. He needed to take up special effects make-up or some type of cosmetology career because it was ridiculous how impeccable his skills were.

The warm colors he'd blended into my skin were seamless and natural. My nose could've been mistaken as a muzzle and I had whiskers. Craig had trimmed these little plastic strings and attached them to my skin with something called Spiritgum. I was excited about a product with an eery name like that but he had swayed my decision with words like "temporary" and "easily removed." My black tiger markings were symmetrical and the wingtips on my eyes gave me a fierce approach. His overall design was sharp and the contrasting colors appeared realistic.

Clyde was the cutest squirrel I've ever seen and his chipmunk counterpart was a flawless match. Even without their buckteeth―they'd refused the ridiculing, signature characteristic―I knew what animals they were supposed to be. The panther face paint on Token was quite detailed despite its darkness and his eyes were a focal point, vividly enrapturing. All that needed to be done was Craig's own of which he was currently finishing in the bathroom where he'd done ours.

It was a suspenseful wait as I sat around the kitchen and helped Pretty Lady decorate when she needed the help. While Craig and I had been on our way back, she'd gotten through a majority of the apartment. From the first staircase to the front door was a trail of melting candles and carved pumpkins. The door had a gargoyle knocker and the doorknob was covered in fake blood so nobody would be tempted to use it. Inside, she'd replaced the kitchen table with a long rectangular one fit for a banquet. It was bare except for the halloween streamers and spiderwebs hanging off the sides as well as two sets of red plastic cups and two ping pong balls. There were bats in the living room and a skeleton on the couch.

In the kitchen on the counter was an array of corked bottles and little vials filled with liquids varying in color. Some appeared to be blood, others of green or orange concoctions. Tombstones were set along the walls, the lights were dim, a fog machine was billowing smoke from the cracked closet door, and the fridge was leaking something ghastly and dark. Dismembered fingers were dribbled around the floor and a foot was sticking out from beneath the couch. From Token's room, an LED light was flashing and the television rumbled with foreign music and heavy bass. The dogs were nibbling on each other's outfits, attempting to take off their mittens, and viciously shaking off their hats. Julibob was a Spartan warrior and Julibee was a turtle. She even had a shell and a little reptilian cap.

"Alright, guys." The bathroom door opened and we collected in the mouth of the hallway to see Craig's end result. He walked out, took one look at us, and my heart shattered. Sometime between the last time we'd seen him and now, he'd put on this cocoa colored sweater vest and a plaid button up buttoned to the top. I wanted to kill myself right then he looked so goddamn cute. There was a brown patch over each of his eyes that reminded me of a dog's floppy ears and his little freckles were just the sweetest thing. When he smiled, his doggy mouth smile too.

"Well, Clyde...it looks like I'm going to have to break up with you," Pretty Lady declared. "Craig just stole my heart."

The brunette shared an understanding look with her. "That won't be needed. Let's just have a threesome."

Clasping a hand on either of his best friends' shoulders, Token said, "Count me in."

Craig was completely serious when he made a fist and lightly pounded his chest with it. "Fucking finally."

"This isn't an orgy without Tweek, though," Pretty Lady added.

"Yeah," Clyde agreed. I think everyone was surprised by his acceptance. "Not all of our dicks are going to fit inside my girlfriend."

Nobody responded, and to be completely honest, I had no idea how to even take his comment. And then Craig started laughing, brought the brunette in for a hug―careful of their faces―and said, "I call dibs on Tweek first."

About that time I decided it would be a good thing to be mortified. Pretty Lady saw my face and followed after Craig in humoring her boyfriend's terrible joke while Token excused himself from the conversation entirely. Lucky bastard.

"You guys suck," I grunted, taking the same route as Token by leaving. As they tried to bribe me into coming back, I entered the kitchen and snatched one of the vials with orange liquid.

Craig peeked around the corner of the hallway to watch me. "Tweek's starting the party without us," he told the others.

"That asshole," Pretty Lady swore.

"It's okay. That just means he's going to be the first to pass out." I'd just tossed my head back when I heard Clyde say that and immediately regretted doing so, both because I was now horrified by the thought of passing out first and by how disgusting that shot had tasted.

"Party hard, dude, party hard." It sounded like a congratulatory statement coming from Craig. "That was tequila."

 _Fuck._  I needed to stay  _far_  away from the orange vials tonight. Tequila made me take my clothes off.

From within my pocket, a musical sound erupted. As I set the glass tube down and replaced it with my phone, I saw that Thomas was calling. "I'll be right back," I said to Craig, heading toward his room where I flipped off Clyde and his girlfriend as I passed them by. When the door was shut and I couldn't hear their laughter anymore, I answered my best friend's call. "I'm so screwed, dude. I just took a bigass shot of tequila."

"That's good, dude! Get drunk and get fucked." What the hell was going on tonight? Every conversation had to involve something related to me and sex.

" _No_ ," I disagreed. "It's not." He'd been with me the last time I drank tequila. There were pictures of me on his phone, passed out naked and on his bed.

Thomas laughed at my fretfulness, further dragging me into a state of anxiety. "Tweek, everything's going to be fine. Craig's going to take care of you. He won't let you take your clothes off the same way that I would." I ignored his inane giggling and focused on the nonsexual message of his reassurance instead. "You― _fuck_ ―need to have a good time. Stan and Kyle are here and they agree."

I knew he meant to console me, but just mentioning that he was with Stan and Kyle on Halloween without me made me feel guilty. "You should've come with me."

Out in the main room, the dogs started barking. "Are you kidding me? I'd ruin the mood! You and Craig need to get it on tonight  _without_  me even though I would  _love_  to get it on with Craig Tucker too."

"Nothing is going to happen, dude." I rolled my eyes and found a seat on the bed, shifting with the slight waves.

"Jesus Christ!" Thomas exclaimed. "Are you seriously unaware of how bad your denial is? Because it's really fucking obvious to me."

"I'm sorry," I said. He babbled to Stan and Kyle about how I was apologizing now. It frustrated me. "I'm just scared, okay? Everybody keeps talking and it's getting my hopes up. I don't _want_  to get my hopes up."

In my head, I could clearly see him becoming just as vexed as I was. "It's okay to get your hopes up, Tweek. You're now officially allowed to. I  _saw_  Craig around you. We all did and he totally―"

The door opened. Before Thomas could finish, I ended the call and hid the phone. It was irrational, but my paranoia had risen since my medication had worn off.

Standing in the doorway was Craig. He had his hands raised in mock surrender and there was an upward curl to his lips. Somewhere he'd found an Egyptian headdress and was wearing it on his head. "I just took half shots for everyone who showed up so I thought I'd tell you to get your drink on. That and we're about to play beer pong. You and me are up first."

"How many people are here?" I asked, nervous to enter an atmosphere where everyone knew everyone and I was the only oddball.

"Eight so far," he answered. Four shots. "Come on. You'll recognize some of them from the salon."

Some as in  _two_. There were only two girls who I vaguely recognized. Not including Bailey.


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

  
_I am outside playing, running with my pup_   
_Mommy is upon the porch, calling me to sup._   
_"Mother, may I stay out, play a little more?"_   
_"Just a few more minutes, then come in through this door."_   


  
_Later, Mommy stokes my cheek, says, "It's time for bed,"_   
_I yawn and nearly fall asleep when pillow meets my head._   
_Mother starts a story with, "Once a beanstalk grew,"_   
_But I'm fast in slumber land before the story's through._   


  
_Something wakes me later, something that sounds near._   
_I tiptoe quietly down the hall so Mommy will not hear,_   
_Slipping out the front door, into the midnight dew,_   
_greeting the towns children, out in the dark night blue._   


  
_Someone leads us dancing, to that tall black tree,_   
_and we climb like monkeys, laughing merrily._   
_Halfway up that tall black tree we find a big, wide crack,_   
_and we climb inside the tree into a darkness black._   


  
_Deep inside the tree now, no longer having fun._   
_We cry and scream and can't get out, there's nowhere we can run._   
_I wish I hadn't snuck out, I'm sorry that I came,_   
_there's something creeping closer now, it's calling me by name._   


—Return to Daemon Hall, Andrew Nance

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Just about every female was scantily clad. Bailey was wearing a dinosaur romper with spiked ridges down her spine. The girls from the salon who both seemed to be quite motivated as they conversed with Token were matching in their booty shorts, cropped tops, and policeman hats. Clyde's girlfriend had unclothed down to the bare essentials: her bra and underwear. The two articles were furry to correspond with her given animal and a little chipmunk tail was pinned to her bottom. She had a shapely butt; I was almost jealous of it.

And the men. Well, the men were rather dashing, some of them skimpy like the girls. There were the Blues Brothers who were literally brothers except both were skinny, a lumberjack with an ax but it was fake so I didn't mind, and an Egyptian pharaoh missing his headdress. On the couch feeding the dogs fake eyeballs was Julibob's Spartan replica.

Eight looked a lot more populated than it had originally seemed in my head. I stepped up behind Craig in the mouth of the hallway just as he announced my presence to the group, speaking loudly enough that his voice penetrated that of the music. "Everyone," he said. Heads turned, automatically forcing me into a spotlight position. "This is Tweek." I felt like a shy five year old and grabbed the first thing I could: the back of Craig's thigh.

It startled him, my abrupt clench. He jerked his head around to look at me, must've comprehended the timid aura encompassing me, because he grinned and said to only me, "You definitely need some alcohol in you." I grimaced and pinched the back of his leg causing him to yelp and skitter away. If I drank, there would be no keeping myself in check. I did want to, but were the consequences worth it? This was a conflicting situation and I needed to compromise somehow. Maybe I'd just play a round of beer pong and hopefully lose that way I wouldn't have to play again.

Mine and Craig's competition was the brother duo, first game of the night. It would set the tone for the rest of my party experience. Two pyramids made of red plastic cups were set up on either end of the table. Craig and I were stationed at one of them, the brothers at the other. It turned out we'd be playing bitch cup which mean that the first player from both teams to make the middle cup would have to drop their pants until they made a second cup. I hated this version because I would bet money on how often I made the first shot. Hopefully Craig would be better at beer pong than I was.

But just to ensure my safety, I purposefully missed all of the cups when it was my turn. I'd had to do "eye for eye," a term that meant each opponent was meant look the other in the eye as they made their first shot. The rule would cease once a cup had been made although the specific brother I was up against either sucked or was just as scared about losing his pants in front of Craig Tucker as I was.

On his turn, Craig withheld nothing. He positioned himself for a throw, steadily stared his enemy in the eye, and tossed his ball in a well balanced arc. We all watched it land in the center of the pyramid. Everyone in the room unanimously called out, "Bitch cup!"

_Safe._

Craig shamelessly undid his jeans and stepped out of the legs before kicking the article aside. "Those are gone for the night," he promised.

_Not safe._

Sweet Jesus, why did he have to do this to me? Now he was only in boxer-briefs and his adorable sweater vest.

When I made the next shot, though a little shaky because of Craig's pantless proximity, he leaned over me and said, "I see that you purposefully gave me bitch cup. Thanks."

I chuckled nervously and grinned up at him as innocently as I could without making a grab at his crotch. "Better you t-than me."

* * *

Beer Pong then commenced as Beer Pong always does. Alcohol was split equally and the cups began to stack up. There was an obvious shift in the somber mood when they dwindled further and shooters started asking for rearrangements of the cups like diamonds or a straight line. It meant that the game was cutting close and we were getting serious.

As the first round neared its closing―although few cups didn't always mean a quick end because sometimes two teams could shoot back and forth for that last cup  _forever_  just like monopoly―six more people showed up. Craig had taken more half shots for each individual. One had smelled distinctly like marijuana and I wondered if I was going to get crossfaded tonight.

Now that the game was reaching its peak, I felt a competitive streak coming on, and I didn't want to lose. I wanted to play and win and if that meant drinking a lot of beer and getting drunk then I was going to do it.

My and Craig's pyramid had made it down to two single cups when one of the brothers tossed the ball and it bounced― _bounced_  being the key word―against the table.

"House rule!" Craig screamed, but it wasn't only him. It was all of his roommates. Token and Clyde were standing off to the side, Pretty Lady on a chair to see over her boyfriend's shoulder. "House fucking rule!" They shrieked.

Obviously the apartment of Tucker, Donovan, Black and woman didn't condone bouncing.

Before the ball could make it into a cup, Craig's hand jut out and intercepted it. He slapped it away, breathing heavily with excitement from the slip-up. I think he might've strained a few vital blood vessels while playing. I had never witnessed this animated side of him before tonight, never knew that he could get so wrapped up in a game like  _Beer Pong_. He'd even started doing this thing where every time I got ready to shoot, he'd grab my hips and help me move into an advantageous position. Clearly, he cared very much about this game.

So much so that he grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. I was just a wee little bit woozy, the beginnings of temptation unfurling in the very back of my conscious, but it was enough to get me to lean into him. To feel his thighs against mine. To incline my chin and share a breath with him. "You blow the ball if it spins the rim," he said to me. My eyes narrowed. If he was giving me permission, then house rule was that only girls were allowed to blow. He looked up and asked, "He can blow, right? Because he's really gay."

 _Oh, thanks._  I glared at him because the entire crowd was agreeing that I should be able to blow the ball if it ever managed to spin the rim of a cup. What I should've done was spite him by saying that I was better at fingering, a rule designated to men who flicked the ball out of the cup with their finger when the ball span the rim. It was just that I couldn't lie to Craig and _maybe_  I might've been better at blowing. Maybe. Glancing down at me, my sucky partner realized that I wasn't amused, and kissed my neck apologetically so as not to smear my face paint. I felt no forgiveness, just a little bit...fuck, okay. I'd been wooed.

We missed it when a ball landed in one of our two cups that were left. Their first had missed, but this one―Craig swore and snatched it off the table, glaring at our equal playing field. "I'll take this one," I offered. Removing the cup from his hand, I brought it to my mouth and swallowed down the beer. Craig's next shot missed, and when he punched the wall, I regretted taking the beer from him.

His irritation unsettled me and effected my aim. The ball completely bypassed the table entirely. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." So it was unexpected when one of the first brothers made their shot cleanly into our last cup. "No fucking way." Reaching for his forehead, Craig reconsidered once remembering the face paint and dropped his hand.

Both would need to make it, but they were already halfway there now. From across the table, the brothers shared in their egotism with each other, hollering and laughing. One of them collected the ball and looked right at me. He was smirking because if he made this, they'd win. I watched him throw it and I thought to myself that they weren't allowed to beat us but the stupid ball was making a perfect beeline right for our cup. Craig was too invested in this game to lose and I didn't want to be the one to let that happen.

The ball touched the rim of the cup and lost its steady momentum. It swooped around once before speeding viciously through numerous circles. What happened then, I don't know. I might've died at the unannounced coincidence. Possibly I shit myself over how beautifully timed this opportunity was. But my eyes widened and I bent over so fast and blew so hard that the ball flew right into my face then bounced straight off the table.

All I could hear was boisterous cheering throughout the crowded cavity of the apartment's main room, and all I could feel was the weightlessness of being thrown into the air. Craig had picked me up and was suffocating me in his arms. It was lovely. "Alright," he said. Something was forced into my hand. "You need to make this, okay?"

"Are you going to put me down?" I asked, eyes flickering briskly across his face. He was flushed beneath his face paint and his hair was becoming disheveled. I felt similarly to what I saw.

"I don't think I can," he admitted. "I just need you to make this shot."

His answer calmed me in a way. I liked knowing that Craig could get worked up about stuff and it was cute when he did. But I would miss the cup if I aimed from this unfamiliar angle, though. And I was  _not_  going to lose. I wasn't going to throw the game just because I liked the way his arms felt securing me against his torso. "Put me down, get me a shot, and I promise you we'll win."

Hastily agreeing, he set me back onto my feet and asked Pretty Lady to get me something. Secretly I hoped she would know that I couldn't do the vials tonight and get me a shot glass of something― _anything_ ―that wasn't tequila instead. While she was doing that, Craig took his ball and didn't even  _try_. He just made it.

"Fuck you," he said, flipping off our opposing team.

Pretty Lady came rushing back, pushing a fucking  _vial_  between Token and Clyde's shoulders. There was no reason to refuse it by that point, so I took the slender slip of glass and tossed it back, curling my fingers around the little white ball tucked tightly against the palm of my hand. The alcohol singed my throat, foul on my tongue.

I turned my head and spotted the last cup with a ball already floating in its beer. It must've been the bit of tequila and beer in my system that kept me from over-thinking the throw because my toss was fluid without the stress of thought and it landed in the cup on top of Craig's ball so quickly that, for a second even after I'd made it, we still hadn't won.

* * *

Craig and I made it through two more rounds of Beer Pong before getting butchered by Token and Bailey. It'd been embarrassing.

Someone had also brought out marijuana, but I hadn't partaken in that particular substance. I'd gotten tipsy off the beer and had stuck to my wits: shots. I was on my seventh and knew that five of those had been tequila. A couple of more drinking games had coalesced including Flip Cup and California Kings.

I'd been an enemy of Craig's for Flip Cup, and I don't know if it was just me getting turned on by opposing him, but I was feeling some unresolved sexual tension while glaring at each other throughout those few short rounds. Like maybe in his head he was thinking  _I want to do dirty, dirty things to you_  and I was relaying my own thoughts― _I want you to do dirty, dirty things to me_ ―because I swear to God if it wasn't him then I was picking up on  _someone's_  residual sex appeal, or pheromones, or maybe I was just getting really drunk.

The ladies were progressively losing what articles of clothing they had once worn, the music was getting louder, Clyde was trying to convince his girlfriend to talk Bailey into having a threesome with them, and I was getting a call from Thomas. My first instinct was to steal myself away inside of Craig's room and so that's where I went, excusing myself from the throng in the kitchen who were pouring themselves more shots.

"Thomas?" I inquired, answering the phone as I shut the door behind me. The lights were off, and when I turned them on, I just kind of took in the entirety of Craig's room. I mean, it was surreal to me that I was even standing there. It was so blank and boring, little furniture and even less belongings, but his personality  _was_  the empty space and his more personal characteristics were in the easel folded beneath his bed and in the pencils and paints on top of his dresser.

This room was  _comfortable_  to me. It wasn't pretending to be clean but a colossal problem―the overly organized version―underneath. Not like mine was. I think I liked it because I didn't feel claustrophobic when the door was closed. Craig's personal touch wasn't so overbearing that it left no room for me.

My eyes focused on his bed and I had to think to myself  _Don't even get yourself started on the bed_  because I'd begun to wonder recently what else would happen there. There were many things that I could achieve on Craig Tucker's bed and right now wasn't the time to fantasize about them. I did crawl onto it, though. The waves inside were soothing.

"Hey!" Thomas responded enthusiastically before quieting down and adding, "I sure hope I wasn't _interrupting_  anything."

"No. I just need to invest in a waterbed."

"Oh," he half growled. "You're on the bed, I see. Perhaps this conversation can wait." I was in the process of rolling my eyes when he asked, "Who has a waterbed?"

Had I really never mentioned it to him? I loved this thing! "Craig does."

"Well," he chirped, audibly inhaling deeply before spewing: "I can totally hang up and call back later if you're about to do something on that bed specifically anything that has to do with you losing your virginity to Craig Tucker and don't even worry about it because I can run down a condom to you guys just as long as I can join in, yeah?"

When I laughed at his conjoined assumption and offer, I knew that the alcohol in my system was working to impair me. Especially when I sighed dramatically and grumbled, "I wish."

My best friend sniggered as I flopped down onto my back. "Is somebody not giving you enough attention?"

"Not exactly." I wanted to roll around and press my face against the bedsheets but I needed to be careful with my face paint. Obviously I wasn't very drunk if I could still remind myself not to do that. "It's more like I'm not getting the attention that I  _want_."

"Tweek!" He cried, feigning surprise. "Are you telling me that you're... _horny_?"

"I'm not  _horny_ ," I objected. "I'm just―" It was just that Craig looked so cute tonight. All of his little buttons were done up and he was wearing a  _sweater vest_  and he'd had it all tucked in and then he'd taken off his pants. Other people had to have noticed how goddamn  _fine_  his legs were looking. His boxer briefs fit so snug around his thighs and that butt of his and the impact of our stare-down during that competition and  _God_. Just God. "Yeah, okay. I think I'm a little horny."

"And?"

"And what?" It had just taken the life out of me to admit that I was sexually frustrated. What else did he want from my drained corpse?

He sighed impatiently. "And you're going to fix that, right?"

 _Oh._  "N―no, probably not."

"That's because you're not drunk enough. I'm serious when I say this, Tweek: You turn into a fuckable person when you're drunk. So go out there and take a few more shots of tequila. I'll call you back and we can talk once something interesting happens, alright?" Before I could change his mind, he hung up.

I muttered jumbled insults at him while I was forced to get up and return to the living area. Just as I had my hand on the nob, my other on the light switch, the door opened and I shrieked as a massive squirrel appeared. Clyde stepped into the room, pushing me back to allow himself room as he shut the door and locked it. I had thought he'd be dragging two girls in after him, but I'd been wrong.

It was just me and him and for a second I honestly thought that I was quite possibly about to get fucked by Craig Tucker's best friend, not even Token who was at least an admirable partner, but  _Clyde Donovan_. Thomas had been right and I was a fuckable drunk.

"Alright," he said, slapping his hands together with a look of motivation enhancing his painted features. Sweet Jesus, we were about to get kinky. "You. Me." But what I'd heard was, "You. On your knees. Me. In your butt." And oh, was I terrified.

His next instruction cleared the air, though. "Drunk talk."

Except this―please not drunk talk, I wasn't drunk enough for drunk talk―I didn't want to dabble in either.

He grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the bed, lugged me onto the mattress and shoved me down so that I stayed there. We stared at each other from across our very separate and strictly placed seats. This wasn't the kind of talk that would end with us blubbering about what all we liked about one another. This was the same talk that stemmed from the same protection that my own best friends felt toward me. I hadn't even realized while I spent my time with Craig that I was being viewed and judged upon by Clyde.

Stan and Kyle, even my parents, should have prepared me for this. I should've been experienced in the art of reassuring one's intentions. But as he assessed me with his vividly dark and rich eyes, I couldn't think of a single thing to say that would sufficiently represent the genuine goodness of my purpose for being here. My honesty―not one statement came to mind that I could use to defend it. After a tense moment of just sitting there, Clyde said, "I wanted him to be with a girl." Although it hurt, his voice held no accusation, and I wondered if I was the only one who had felt the tension like frost billowing between our bodies as though someone had shaken a dusty curtain.

Clyde looked harder at me, and I knew what he was seeing because I immediately felt that recognizable self-conscious itch in my skin. He was picking at all of my flaws, the mental and the physical. I was the strange boy with the same name twice. My eyes were too big for my head and I imagined these things called the underpants gnomes. We couldn't be friends because girls thought I was weird and boys didn't know what to do with me. I wasn't good at games during recess but I was easy to copy off of when we did puzzles in class. In junior high he'd told me to fuck off for not letting him cheat off my test and I still hadn't been good at sports, so the boys had known where to put me then, and the girls still didn't like me because they'd known I was gay.

Somehow it'd leaked during high school that I had a psychiatrist and Clyde had been one of the first people to ask me when I was switching to a school in the psychiatric ward at Hells Pass Hospital. I'd been embarrassed because he'd said it in front of Craig, and it had been the worst thing because my parents had taken me on a vacation for the rest of the week, and when I'd come back, everyone had honestly believed that I'd left for being mental. Craig had actually acknowledged me that day and he'd looked so surprised to see me.

"I don't know why he likes you." I flinched, completely bypassing the "he likes you" and only hearing "I don't know why."

There was a reverberating thunk that slammed against Craig's door. It jarred me, sounding distinctly like a body. Someone knocked and vigorously jiggled the nob in unison, creating unnecessary noise. "Clyde?" Craig called, voice careening in volume.

"Yeah?" The brunette asked tersely, gaze relentlessly as he continued to pinpoint it at me.

"I'm so drunk, dude. Get out here." His body dropped against the door again.

"I'm busy with Tweek right now. I'll be out in a second. Remember Tweek?" Clyde's solid once-over left me believing as though he wished _he_  didn't.

Craig's tone lowered as I heard him speak against the threshold. "You already have a girlfriend. Get out of my room."

"We're not fucking, dude." I blushed furiously, half glad that I wasn't the only one who'd been thinking questionable thoughts. "I have more dignity than that. If I wanted to fuck, we'd be in _my_  room."

"I don't trust you," Craig grumbled. Clyde rolled his eyes and screamed at his best friend to leave. "He's probably dead. I want to hear his voice. Are you dead, Tweek?"

He could be so precious at times. I hadn't even realized I'd been giggling until Clyde snapped a look in my direction and my body shut itself up. "I'm fine, Craig. Clyde and I are almost done. Just wait f-for us with everybody else."

Something was said beneath his breath, but I couldn't understand him through the door. "You're talking about me, aren't you?" He asked, louder now.

"God, yes!" Clyde shouted, exasperated. "We're talking about you. Now go the fuck away!"

His energy must've triggered something of Craig's, because from the hallway he made this noise like an enraged lion. My eyes widened as an object thick and structured ricocheted against the doorframe. I figured it had been a fist, and Craig's anger should  _not_  have turned me on the way it did, but if Clyde hadn't been there, I feared I would've gotten an instant erection. "I want to spend time with my best friend and Tweek!" The brunette was trying not to grin at Craig's reckless behavior. "I'm going to sit on the couch and wait," were his mumbled plans as he departed.

Clyde's aura returned with a vehemence, his presence akin to that of a territorial dog. The moment he'd cracked for Craig was gone, and he needed to be quick because if the truth had been told, then Craig would be waiting for us on the couch with a displeased lion's temper. "You don't even notice it, do you?"

If he was referring to his best friend's tantrum, then no, I had  _definitely_  noticed that. There wasn't much that could up my testosterone unless you were an angry Craig. "Huh?"

"It really sucks having to say this, alright? I want you to know that." Clyde shook his head and ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. "Are you an idiot or something? Craig's crushing on you― _hard_. He can't fucking function without you and it's annoying as hell." There was a stunt in my pulse and I thought to myself that maybe I  _was_  going to die and that Clyde had better leave so Craig didn't think it was him who'd killed me. "He talks about you when he's not talking  _to_  you and he has to show me every goddamn picture he draws and repeat all this stupid shit that he likes about your face over and over again. He's never been like this before. He's never had a crush before. I mean, when we were little he thought he'd had a crush or two on older girls but that was for the sake of being  _normal_. You're not normal, Tweek. God, your the worst first crush ever."

 _What the fuck._  This was certainly a drunk talk. Where was any of it even coming from? Clyde was going back to when they'd been, like, eleven years old! "When we left South Park, we were supposed to leave  _you_. You and Kenny and your little Tourette's friend. I could've had something nice there, you know. Girls liked me. Red or Mindy, and Token would've had Bebe." He remembered their names. I hadn't thought that he would for disliking the place so much. "So you shouldn't even be allowed to _talk_  to Craig. You're lucky Token likes you otherwise you wouldn't be here. He thinks you're  _good_  for him."

I'd always heard about Clyde titled Craig's "jealous girlfriend," but I hadn't known it'd be like this. He was off the bed and pacing back and forth across the room, smearing his face paint with the palms of his hands and hissing when he saw the damage. "I don't even think he remembers which is just retarded," he spat. "But you were the first person he drew. It was shitty, nothing like he does now. We were sitting at  _my_  house and he drew  _your_  fucking face. Not―not Token's or Kenny's or his sister's. He drew you" ―he pointed at me as though he were scolding me― "and your bigass eyes, so just shut up." I hadn't even said a word that entire time. Clyde stood straight and gasped to return the breath he'd expelled, took in all of this air inside the room until I couldn't even breathe myself.

His back was to me and it sounded like he was making an effort just to compose himself when he ground out between his clenched jaw, "He likes your teeth. And your freckles. And he's never been so psyched about a color until he saw your eyes." The change in his demeanor had been so rapid and I wasn't sure how to understand it or what he was telling me. "I'll find him in here starving or some shit because he's been trying to recreate it all night." Clyde exhaled noisily and clenched his fists at his sides. "And then he decided to really think about things and―he was so excited when he found out about your―...never mind. That's not the point. But at the time, he was working so hard on this one project because he'd finally figured out what he was afraid of." This was the project that I'd confessed a fraction of my fears for. I'd never been told what he'd ended up deciding on.

"He's scared of having no explanation," Clyde said. "And I think he meant you. I think he doesn't know what you're doing to him or why you're making him feel the things he does and it scares him." But that was the extent of my knowledge, too! Those were the unknown things that I felt and that _I_  was afraid of. They had no origin but came from everywhere all at once. "Tweek." The brunette turned around to face me with a new resolve, his features smudged but determined. "Craig has no barriers. He's not cautious and he doesn't know what to expect. People with experience have been hurt. They aren't dumbasses with this kind of thing but Craig's as dumb as anyone could get, alright? You need to be delicate with him because he's―he's very  _fragile_ , and you need to let him take his time."

 _Oh my God._  As Clyde turned his back on me to unlock the door, my features unfolded from their frozen exterior and became lax, a jaw-dropped state of―of everything I definitely hadn't foreseen. That had been permission. I had just gotten  _the_  best friend's permission. It was the most dire form of acceptance and Clyde Donovan had just given it to me  _for_  Craig Tucker. "Hey." My eyes flickered toward his, wary of taking in any more information. That and I was indescribably shocked. Clyde smirked at my reaction. "You need to know that sexual Craig and emotional Craig are two very different people. One goes way faster than the other. It doesn't mean he's inconsiderate, alright?" He waited for me to nod my head dumbly before adding, "It just means his dick is working, and anytime Craig's dick works is a miracle, so you better aim to satisfy." Smirk widening, he opened the door and ushered me out. "Now fuck off."

When I made it out of the hallway, I had every goal in mind of going into the kitchen and grabbing the entire bottle of tequila. Simple shots wouldn't help me now. But as soon as I made it up to the mouth, Pretty Lady was standing there with a long and skinny glass extended and waiting for my grubby little hands. I took it and didn't even bother with a chaser, mildly curious as to why the room was screaming with laughter. "I know you just got mauled but you need to see this," she said, pointing into the living area where the flash of a camera momentarily blinded me.  _Oh no,_  was my initial thought. Token was taking pictures.

And I was right, hover-handing my mouth as I peeked around a few shoulders with a grin on my face. Craig was not waiting like he said he'd be, nor was he grumpy in the slightest. No, in the time it'd taken Clyde to go on a rampage, Craig had been out here switching his boxer briefs for one of the police girls' short shorts. He'd tucked his shirt in and was now wearing the most conflicting set of clothing. The scene that Token was photographing was of the two girls tipping their hats with one hand, grabbing his crotch with the other.

Craig was mid laugh and noticeably drunk, arms raised in the put-your-hands-up position. I closed my eyes and shook my head, reminding myself that this was still the beginning of the night. Token must've realized I was there because he said, "I don't think Tweek is very into this." He winked at me and motioned me over.

Before I could shake my head, Clyde came up from behind me and nudged me into the center of the gathered group where Craig and the girls were. "Let's get a picture of the two homos together!" He suggested, and at first I thought he was making fun of Craig for supposedly having a crush on me when Bailey was dragged into the pit by Pretty Lady.

Her arms looped around my shoulders as she attempted not to stumble past me. She was giggling and gazing around dizzily, her weight a burden because she was too intoxicated to hold herself up. I kept my arms tight around her waist to keep her on her feet and smiled when recognition ignited her features into a stunningly drunk mess. "Tweek! How are you and Craig?"

I glanced quickly toward him and wavered slightly when I saw that he was on Clyde's back. "W-we're good," I laughed.

"Are we taking a picture?" She wondered, tipping her head back to spot Token upside down. Bailey gasped once she saw the camera pointed in our direction, flung her head back up, and did what I'm guessing was the first thing she could think of―turned us to the side, grabbed a handful of my butt, and made a  _dat ass_  face―and I was only guessing because the first thing that  _I_ had thought of was to grab her boobs and make an expression like shock.

We were both laughing at our coinciding poses and my head was suddenly an explosion of numb hilarity. Her body nearly fell backward on a level far more intoxicated than mine. I had to grab her again and we were laughing and that's when Pretty Lady suggested, "You know what would be funny? If Craig and Tweek did that same pose."

And then I was being pushed and Craig was sauntering over and his hands were on me, cupping my rear end differently from the way Bailey had. My body knew the dissimilarities well. His hands were larger, more certain of their placement and aware of how firmly they should hold me. I could feel him pressed against my front, knew that he was grinning down at me without having to look. I might've jut my hips into his where I hadn't with Bailey, might've thought many things that I hadn't with Bailey.

I needed to  _not_  be horny, damn it.

Once the picture was taken, Craig tipped his head to the side and smirked. I couldn't deny looking away from him this time and blushed beneath the paint on my face. He tapped my butt like he was patting me on the back and said, "Clyde's turn. He gets mad at me when I don't take best friend pictures with him." Just as he'd said, Clyde was standing behind me with his arms across his chest, glaring. Part of me was curious as to whether or not he'd made it into  _my_  picture and if I should photobomb _his_  just in case.

But he looked so happy when Craig gave him his attention and I couldn't bring myself to dilute that. Their friendship was his top priority, his most crucial investment. There wasn't a part of me that could spite him for that kind of dedication. The two were posing all over each other, groping and kissing and bending one another over so they could pretend to do the other up the butt. Token had gotten dragged in at one point, forced to touch his best friends inappropriately for the sake of the camera and laughing his repetitive laughter when Clyde got down on his knees to simulate the look of a blow job and Craig got up on his shoulders to kiss Token on the mouth.

People were commenting that Token was such a dog. They said he was lucky for scoring two fine young men. Pretty Lady was forced to submit to the pressure of joining by those who said it was time for a family picture. She instantly picked up the masculine role, clearly the man of the house as she pretended to beat all three of her roommates. Everyone joked that poor Clyde was probably used to such abusive behavior causing his girlfriend to laugh maniacally and him to whimper profusely. It was a sad moment in the life of Clyde Donovan.

"Tweek," Token called, waving me over. I shook my head and held up my hands, not wanting to barge in on a roommate moment. I didn't belong there. "Dude, get over here!" As I shook my head again, he gestured for somebody to push me over, and one of the brothers from Beer Pong did just that. My stumble was blind and I ran right into Token's outstretched arm. He coiled it around my shoulders and hugged me to his side. I liked the way he smelled. "You live with us half of the time. You can at least be in half of the pictures."

Just as he said so, a picture was taken, the flash dazzling out of the corner of my eye. I started laughing because the first picture I'd have with everyone would be of me staring starry-eyed up at Token whose arm was still fashioned around my shoulders like a scarf. He noted our intimate positioning with a nose crinkle and a smile. "Token," I said, matching his expression. I put a hand on the back of his neck and told him, "I think I'm going to kiss you."

"What?" He asked, but I was already pulling him near and tilting my head so that our mouths would touch.

I knew that people were going into hysterics and I knew that the act was being photographed but Token smelled so nice, just clean and gentlemanly. The press of his lips was the most gentle thing, and he let me shift our mouths closer together until I could just barely taste him, a similarly humbling flavor that made me want to wash down my room with him. If I could just make everything I owned as fresh as Token, I wouldn't have the compulsive, tidy problems that I did.

His hand clenched my shoulder, and as I pulled away, my body combusted into an inaudible sigh for finally having gotten to kiss _somebody_. There was a small orange smudge above his upper lip.  _Token Black_ , my thoughts sniggered. He was one of the only men I'd ever kissed.

I couldn't believe that I had just done that and for no particular reason. I don't think anybody else could, either.

"Did you just...?" He attempted to ask, looking at me and then at Pretty Lady who'd stolen the camera to take the picture. "Did he really just do that?"

Pretty Lady clicked the playback button and showed him the screen. I couldn't stop myself as I began to giggle. It was a picture of me kissing Craig's best friend.

"I'm sorry, Token." But not really. Actually, I was very happy that I'd kissed him.

"Dude," he clapped me on the back so goodnatured and lighthearted. "It's cool. We'll think of that as your initiation. God only knows how many times I've been coerced into kissing Craig and Clyde."

 _Craig..._  I was immediately reminded of my crush, and leaned into Token's chest to take a peek over his shoulder at the man who I'd kind of―maybe―quite possibly―cheated on just a little bit. He was wearing the biggest grin and I knew that he also thought of that smooch as an initiation of sorts.

"You know that you have to kiss all of us now, right?" He asked, motioning toward Clyde who glared at me for bringing up such a task. Pretty Lady pumped the air with her fist, seemingly excited enough for both her and her boyfriend. "Have at him, Clyde." The brunette was shoved toward me, stumbling as he took the place of Token. "Show him why all the ladies love you."

He grimaced down at me, grabbing me by the shoulders despite the attitude he wore. "You're not a lady," he grumbled, tilting into me anyways. "This is going to ruin my night." It was a quick, disappointing kiss. One that received disapproval in the form of belligerent calls from the group surrounding us. Clyde ignored them.

Token took the camera from Pretty Lady and encouraged her to take the next turn. She sidled up to me and we met nose to nose. "Best for last, right?" She giggled, referring to Craig while taking my hands and placing them on her waist. My eyes shifted and landed on him. He was punching Clyde for being a pansy. When my focus returned to her, she put her arms around my shoulders and bumped our noses together. "Colton was asking about you, so when you kiss Craig, make sure it's a good one."

As she pressed our mouths together and held them like that until the flash went off, I tried to think of who Colton was or why she'd said that. The name wasn't familiar to me, and honestly I was too distracted by the warmth of her lips to formulate a rational thought. For being a girl, I was pretty interested in her mouth, and followed her as she pulled away, keeping her's and mine together for a moment longer before letting her go. She pet the back of my head, whispering into my ear, "Save that for Craig."

Why yes, that sounded like a good idea. A very good idea, and I stepped up to him myself because he was always instigating things first and I wanted to be the generous one for once. Some guy's name was fluttering through my head, blinking in and out of my conscious mind so that I couldn't remember what it was. It might've resembled Craig's and that was who I was consumed by: Craig. He was standing in front of me, so close that I had to turn my head up just to look at him. My hands rose to frame his ribcage, and I lifted onto my toes to rub my lips against his. "You're so cute," I confessed, mumbling into his mouth as I kissed him a second time. "I've wanted to do this all night."

My body tipped forward, chest pushing against his. I could feel his hands balancing my wobbly stance by my elbows. "Don't start talking like that," he grumbled. His voice rumbled in a way that had my breath fanning against his mouth and it felt good once it was gone because it left room for a tight heat to bloom inside of me. The feeling was one that I constantly associated with Craig. One that had never existed with anybody else. "Didn't I warn you that I'm a horny drunk?"

If he did, I definitely hadn't reacted like this. My body shuddered, tendrils of stimulation shooting up my spine. I made to move my arms around him, but he had me by my goddamn elbows and wouldn't let me rise. I was immobilized and he began to inch away. His eyes were murky, shrouded. There was something I needed to be doing, a task I'd been given. Craig's reluctance reminded me of that, but in order to do it, I needed him to be  _not_  reluctant.

All he did was tighten his hold when I strained against him. " _Craig_ ," I practically whimpered. Something in the tight clench of his hands weakened and I knew that if I could just dig my toes into the floor that I'd be able to break through to him, but there was also something desperate in the way he  _was_  clenching so tightly. My conscious mind acknowledged his hesitance and made me wonder if right now in front of all of these people was the time for this.

"I think..." he murmured, really considering whatever was going through his mind. I didn't know what he would say seeing as the last thing out of his mouth had been him clearly stating that he was a horny drunk when he was most definitely intoxicated. "I think that I should really go out and smoke a cigarette."

If not kissing me for that was the same as rejection, then I understood. I got that smoke breaks were important when one had been drinking, that groups periodically ventured out for new scenery because alcohol could make a person short-termed, and I had just been thinking myself that we shouldn't have been kissing anyways.

"Okay." I sounded excessively bummed and his eyes squinted as though he were very sad. "That's fine."

I wasn't reassuring either of us, though.

"Tweek," he murmured. But the sound of my name and the low tone he was speaking with made me want to do something that we obviously weren't going to. Even though I'd decided that it wasn't a good idea to do so, either. "I didn't say that to―"

"What are you talking about?" I lied, lowering down to my heels. I'd apologize for this later, drunkenly and incoherent. I'd probably say a lot of things to him later. "Go smoke."

And then  _he_  looked excessively bummed but he grabbed his cigarettes and stalked out the front door while leaving it open as an invitation still wearing those short shorts. I didn't want to look around and see just how obvious the tension had been so I pulled out my phone and stowed away to call Thomas again, but he'd been mad that nothing "juicy" had happened yet and convinced me to drink some more. Our conversation had literally been: hey―hey―anything happen?―no, but I think I just embarrassed myself―so if nothing happened then why are you calling me?―I don't know, but―take a shot in fifteen seconds and I'll do the same and it'll like we're drinking together and maybe it'll inspire you.

So I went back out into the nearly empty apartment while counting to fifteen and grabbed the whole bottle of tequila so that I could down a hearty shot of it as though I were drinking with Thomas. Inspiration hadn't revealed itself and I ended up crouched on the floor with the bottle between my hands as though it would explain to me what had just happened with Craig like three minutes ago. I couldn't actually remember how long it'd been anymore, memory fluctuations and all.  _No, but I think I just embarrassed myself,_  I'd said.

"Ugh." I bent toward the cabinet and hit my head against it. "Fuck me."

"Hey." The voice was male and I automatically assumed that it was Craig. My head shot up, vision swimming unmethodical directions. I toppled over after snatching a glimpse of lightly colored hair and realized in disappointment that it wasn't Craig who was now taking the alcohol from me or putting their arms around me just to keep me upright. "South Park, right?" I nodded my head, already awkward even when my vision wasn't focused.

He didn't smell like cigarettes and so he hadn't been outside. Not with the others and not with Craig. His black tie caught my eye as well as his matching trousers and ironed shirt. I recognized him as one of the brothers. It was either this one or the other who'd been eyeing me a good fraction of the night. Although I hadn't caught his name, I wanted to call him Colton.

Situating himself down next to me, he asked, "You just decided to come down for Halloween?" I tipped sideways in the direction that was not toward him. "Oh, no you don't." He rerouted me so that I ended up with my face in his chest, face paint forgotten.

 _Why are you talking to me?_ "Not really. I―uh."  _I come down here to feed my monster obsession for Craig._  "It's more for Craig. We're" ―God, I did not like saying it but I did― "friends."

When I made to sit up, he helped me straighten. "Craig can be a pretty cool guy. It takes a little bit to get used to him, though. I don't actually think any of us here are his friends. We're more acquainted with Clyde and Token and―" Before he could speak her name, the woman herself wandered past while wearing a deep-set scowl. My initial thought was that her and Clyde had gotten into a fight, but then I remembered that she was the one who had warned me about a boy named Colton and I didn't know if I should be sitting with this one who was currently unnamed. He skipped her the next time he spoke, but I wasn't sure if I was being paranoid or intuitive. "It's just nice to know that he does have friends."

"Yeah." There was an obvious lull where we both kind of just looked at each other and then I started laughing because I could be such a socialite sometimes. I started laughing harder at my own joke.

The unnamed boy smiled. "So you uh, kind of blew my ball and screwed my game. House rule is usually females only."

 _Beer Pong_ , I reminded myself. He had to be the brother that'd been taking noticeable glances at me. "It is females only b-but I'm gay so I guess I'm just one of the girls."

"That's harsh," he said. Except the glint in his eye wasn't computing the same meaning. He was more interested than pitiful.  _Oh, boy._  I wanted to slap my forehead.  _Shut your mouth, you idiot_. My expression must've come across as regretful which was because I'd said it to  _him_  and not because I'd said it at all, but he wouldn't know the difference. "Don't be offended, but I kind of figured."

"Oh, n-no." My hands waved around and practically whipped him in the face. "I'm not offended. It's s-something that I'm used to."

And then he asked me: "Do you have a boyfriend?"

 _If I did, his name would be Craig Tucker_. I shook my head and giggled over how funny my thoughts could be. The motion caused my stomach to drop and I lost my balance. He put a hand on my knee to right me, but the only thing I felt was uneasy.

"I'm surprised. You're a cute kid."

 _No_ , I wanted to say to him.  _You're supposed to tell me that I look weird and draw me all the time and make me pine over you for years and years because apparently I'm into that kind of stuff_. "O-oh." I laughed again, too loud and too awkwardly. This wasn't happening.  _I need Craig. I need to find Craig_.

Pretty Lady stepped out of the bathroom and waved at me from over the counter. She'd known and warned me about this predicament and was now allowing me to use her as an excuse. After apologizing numerous times, I shakily got up off the floor and wobbled over to her. I accidentally called him Colton a bunch of times but hoped that it would work in my favor, that he would think I was creepy for knowing his name without ever asking and leave me be.

"I told you," she whispered harshly, absconding me for being a big drunk idiot. "Are you aware that you just did everything that I told you not to do? I told you to make out with Craig so that you could  _evade_  Colton! I'm so pissed at you that my fucking vocabulary is intact when I'm fucking drunk, Tweek. That's not a good thing!"

We were heading out the door and then down two flights of stairs and I had no idea how I'd done it without slipping and releasing my bowels all over the granite slabs. My first breath of fresh air had caused me to realize just how stuffy and intoxicated that apartment now was. The marijuana smoke and the fog coupled with the unusual amount of bodies had permeated into a stagnant party funk.

Out in the shadowed, grassy courtyard I could spot the cherries of numerous cigarettes. I couldn't tell which, but one of them was making my stomach knot anxiously. As I hurriedly pivoted around, Pretty Lady lashed out at me and dragged me forward. "Craig didn't want to kiss me," I blurted out. "I don't want to see him."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that you do want to see him." She continued to surge forward and I could tell that heads were lifting at our arrival. "And you're going to tell him what just happened." A recognizable figure sat straddling a concrete wall. Before throwing me toward him, she reflected against my ear, "Remember the last time you didn't listen to me?"

I stumbled blindly into the short wall, directed closer to a body by their fingers around my wrist. Maybe it was when I registered their scent that I smiled and let them tug me closer. I crawled onto the wall and bypassed whatever personal boundaries that I could, snuggled into their lap because they didn't seem to mind and looped my arms around their back.

There was a cool breeze and Craig was warm in comparison. It was a subtle brush of air that dulled the sharp stink of cigarettes. Inhaling the smell of him was made easier, but then he tugged on a few locks of my hair and blew smoke into my face. "Are you having fun?" he asked. Our mouths were in short proximity of each other, making me unable to respond correctly. I was only aware of the shake of his breath crumbling against my own.

Craig detached one of my arms from around his back, flattened out my hand and placed it against his thigh. It was bare and I think he might've only been wearing those ridiculous shorts, no boxer briefs anymore. I almost made a vulgar comment about how could he even fit in them. My cheeks flared and I leaned forward so that I could hide in the shadow of his hair. "I'm having fun," I eventually said. I'd been murmuring and now I lowered my voice to a near broken whisper. "But I think I just got hit on. Inside. By s-some guy named Colton."

He reacted in quite an unusual way after that.

It was common that when one liked another that they showed protective instincts when territory had been... _breeched_. But Craig wasn't like that at all. It was possible that instinctual tendencies like  _mine―that is mine, do not touch that_  didn't even exist in him because the way he was responding to my current dilemma could be termed only one word: dull.

I mean, I wasn't going to flip and go feral if someone was interested in him and thought that it was an alright idea to pursue him just as long as he informed them that there'd been a misunderstanding and that he'd already been pursued.

But I wasn't going to laugh and say, "Colton can be like that sometimes. His brother is the same way." Craig gestured toward the other brother who was allowing a girl absent her shorts to bum a cigarette off him. And then after a momentary pause: "So, does that mean he beat me to it?"

"Craig!" I snapped. "Seriously?"

"What?" He was laughing as he stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back onto the palms of his hands. My own was still resting on his thigh, and to reprimand him for making me feel foolish, I pinched him with my well-groomed nails. Craig yelped and swatted my hand away but I held on with my pinschers until he whimpered, "Why are you hurting me?"

Because Pretty Lady made this out to be some dire extravaganza. "You're supposed to be protecting me," I grumbled instead.

As I released his skin, he settled his leg back down and asked, "What?"

"I thought you'd be protective!" It was humiliating to admit that for some reason. Possibly because he  _hadn't_  protected me. The least he could've done was pass it by Colton's brother and tell him to warn the other that I wasn't a candidate for anyone's sex drive. Or something like that. Anything really.

My crush who was not territorial in the slightest made a distinct sound like snorting. "Why would I be protective? He's not going to do anything."

"You don't know that!" I seethed, preparing to pinch him a second time.

He hiked his legs up and his arms out. "I've been with you all night! How is he going to take advantage of you when I'm right here?"

Yeah, he was drunk if he was this stupid. "Pretty much everyone leaves the house every t-ten minutes for a s-smoke break," I reminded him.

My statement might've actually made an impact if he hadn't then asked, "Are you saying that Colton is going to rape you in, like, one minute and thirty seconds?"

I deadpanned. "It takes you longer to smoke than that!"

* * *

Craig and I actually sat outside in the courtyard once everyone had left to go back into the apartment, moved onto the grass and watched kids wander around the different sets of stairs. They knocked on doors as though this were a literal neighborhood. There was a ledge to the left that had won a decoration contest, their festive ribbon tucked into the hat of a scarecrow as though it were a chunk of hair. I didn't like the scarecrow or its smile of sharp teeth even though I could tell that they'd just been painted onto its potato sack face.

The only excuse that was keeping me out there was Craig's thigh pressed against mine and our shoulders as they brushed more frequently than usual. He had one of my hands in his and he was playing with my fingers, bending them and prodding at the knuckle. "Thank you for convincing me to come." His expression was smug from what I could see of it. There was a majority blocked by shadow, but I knew that every face he made had the look of a puppy dog and was ultimately the cutest thing ever. "You're adorable."

As he laughed, his head fell back and it anchored his body so that he dropped backwards into a pool of dim light. "Am I?" I nodded my head and swung one of my legs around to straddle him, biting into my lip to hold onto my giggles as my stomach flip-flopped.  _Oh, tequila. The wonderful things you're capable of._  "What's your favorite thing about me again?"

There was a pulse all over me, throbbing inside of my skin. "Your hips," I told him. My hands slid down his front to cradle his waist. I snuck my thumbs beneath the layers of his shirts to trace the protruding lines of his hipbones. He sighed slow and even while I repeated his question. "What's your favorite t-thing about me?"

"God, I don't know." His chuckle was a deep, relaxing exhale. "There's a lot of things." He hummed shortly in consideration. "I guess whenever I think about you, I always come back to your eyes. So maybe your eyes are my favorite." Craig grinned and added, "I'd be coy like you, but then I'd have to poke your eyes out."

"That" ―my thumbs dug into his skin; I didn't miss the way he braced himself against the ground― "sounds terrible. You're not doing a very good job of charming me."

But fuck it, I was turning myself on. Looking down, I made an attempt to control the expelling heat of my body and the racing of my heart. Except all I could do was grip Craig tighter and think about how his hips had looked in person while I stroked them a second time. My body keeled over and his breath hit my forehead, fast and heavy. His response was rapidly piecing together the image in my head. It was making my thoughts real, possible, accessible. And they were right below me.

My nails scratched his skin lightly as I forced my thoughts to turn. _Anyone might come out for a smoke break at any time._  Craig leaned up and temporarily ruined my thought process by putting his mouth against mine. _God damn it―_ I fell into the pattern of his kiss, inhaling sharply through my nose when he tucked our mouths together. He sucked so softly that I barely felt it.

"Are you still holding out for that cockblock crush?" His voice was a rumble in the back of his throat. The sound of it flooded my ears and the lightness in my head grew unexpectedly heightened at his attractive tone. My throat worked out a distracted noise of confusion. "You had a chance with Colton and you didn't go for it," he explained.

 _What?_  He was questioning me about that  _now_? All of those shots were finally hitting me, especially that last chug. I hunched forward and wanted to press my face against his chest so badly. "I need to off the face paint," I tried to say. My laughter was so abrupt and instantaneous that I covered my mouth with a hand. " _Oh no._  I think I smeared it."

Craig leaned back and inspected what he probably couldn't see. "It's about time this stuff should come off anyways." He squirmed out from under me and stood. I tripped over my feet to go with him. The grass swam beneath me, and for just a moment, gravity wasn't quite right on earth. It only lasted a second, but my knees gave out and then returned. "You just got really fucking drunk all of sudden," Craig sniggered.

"And you're always cute  _not_  all of a sudden." Jabbing him in the chest, I said, "Take that."

"Oh wow. Yeah, we're taking this face paint off and I don't think I'm going to let you socialize for the rest of the night." Taking me by the wrists, Craig led me back to the door.

"But I wanna party!" I told him. "I wanna party with _you_."

At the door he said, "We are partying. We played Beer Pong a bunch of times and took shots together, remember?"

I reminisced and smiled wistfully. " _Yeah_." I didn't even care if I sounded just as so.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

Tweek was drunk. Tweek was  _very_  drunk.

And he just took another shot of tequila because I let him.

This was too good to pass up. He was stumbling around and saying the most random things to people he'd refused to even look at before. Coming up behind his straying figure, I took the shot glass from him and handed it off to the girl he'd been trying to have a conversation with. She was laughing at whatever he'd said. Probably something along the lines of how ready his butt was for me. "You've taken enough detours," I told him. "I thought you wanted to off the face paint."

"I do!" He cried, turning around too fast. Unable to catch up with himself, he stumbled blindly. I grabbed his forearms and hauled him upright, dragging him into the bathroom with me so that he couldn't make anymore stops. While I was shutting the door, he leaned over the sink and took a good look at his smeared face in the mirror. "I l—look funny," he sniggered, touching his reflection where one particular smudge was located as though he could try and fix it.

"It lasted longer than I thought." To retrieve a washcloth since I didn't trust him doing it himself, I had to lean over his slumped form. As I did so, he bonked his forehead against the mirror and then backed up against my hips. Disoriented, the blonde glanced over his shoulder and at my face to which his woozy expression returned. When I had a small towel and returned to my full height, he rested his back against the sink and gave me a relatively noticeable once-over. His unfocused eyes lingered on my pantless legs. "How am I looking?"

He blushed but said rather blatantly, "Really fucking good." It was like his body had remembered how to react but his brain didn't. Or maybe it was just his mouth. As though he had to make sure, he lowered his gaze to take my body into consideration for a second time. Again, he lingered on my legs. And then it occurred to me that I was wearing very little there and it probably wasn't so much my legs he was staring at as it was my crotch.

"You should," he half giggled half chirped, "take your clothes off." His hands came up in some drunken gesture, followed by his finger circling around as unbalanced and intoxicated as he was. "Because we're all that's in here. And you've seen  _me_  naked" —cue a shaky pointed finger on him— "so it's only fair that I get to see" —the finger was now on me— " _you_ naked."

My Halloween would have been absolutely nothing without Tweek asking me to get naked in front of him.

"I'll take off my shirt," I bargained, hands already on the hem of my sweater. "But I have to keep the bottoms on because the party's not over yet, alright?" He nodded his head, eyes stuck to me, mouth slightly ajar. Anything would've been fine just as long as  _something_  was coming off. Once I'd pulled the first article over my head, I started on the top button of my undershirt. Tweek was still watching me when I asked, "Do you want to help?"

Without answering verbally, he stepped forward and came up from the bottom, ogling at every new patch of skin revealed. It was a cute look on him partnered with the blurred face paint. When the two halves of my shirt were disconnected, he slipped his hands up to my shoulders and pulled the fabric off, fingers tickling down my arms. He stared at my body for a minute, indulging in what he could see of me. It was nice knowing he liked me so much that I didn't have to put on a show for him. I didn't have to flex or stick my pelvis out to impress him. All it took to do that was to stand there like plain old Craig.

I waited until he finally looked up at me to wave the washcloth and say, "Let's clean you up." His eyes watched it dizzily. "Go ahead and sit on the tub." As I wet the towel, I watched him make his way toward the porcelain wall we tended to find ourselves at on occasion. He plopped down and lost his balance, toppling backwards with a noise that was a hybrid between a scream and alarmed laughter. It took him a few tries before he was safely straddling the bathtub.

A proud smile was on his face when I came over and placed myself in front of him. The first thing I did was wipe his mouth off. "Is it l-leaving?" He asked.

"Yeah," I chuckled. "It's leaving."

It was interesting the way he reappeared. The tiger face paint had been thick enough to conceal everything about him: his light smattering of freckles and the pale color of his petal pink lips. There was such a distinct difference between his face and the paint. Almost like peeling off a mask.

After a few more swipes at his jawline followed by his cheek and a few folds of the washcloth later, he started speaking. I'd just uncovered his right eye when he finished asking, "What do you see when you look at me?"

Dabbing at the bridge of his nose, I said very obviously, "I see a Tweek."

His cheeks puffed up into a smile. I cleaned off his left so that it would match the right. Swallowing, he asked, "Do you see a gay kid?"

"Yes." Because he was the type of gay who you automatically got a vibe from.

"Do you see socially-retarded?"

He couldn't see me smile with his eyes closed, but I was cleaning his forehead so it didn't necessarily matter. "You're shy and uncomfortable with people you don't know and that's how it comes across. So a little, I guess. But it's excusable."

"Okay." Opening his eyes, he took the cloth from me and began cleaning off my own face. Had he been sober, I was positive that his gaze would've been intent. Instead, it was glistening from the alcohol and fluttering all over the place. My features were his to look at, and that's exactly what he did as he wiped them down. Perhaps I'd been doing something similar. Somewhere in all of that, while I was losing myself to the shots of alcohol in my system, he asked me a third question. "Do you see crazy? Can you tell that I have problems?"

"No." I shook my head and opened my eyes. Everything about his own were so unique: their wide, angular shape and their crystalline green color, his dark lashes with the randomly placed blonde pieces. "I couldn't tell anything because that's what your medication is for." He couldn't look away from me and I couldn't look away either. We were snagged. "Don't call them problems. Stop thinking of them negatively. You know that I like your stutter." His blush recoiled like he knew what I was going to say next and he didn't want to hear it. "There's all of these things about you that you keep insulting and you don't understand that I think of them a lot differently. They're... _admirable_."

I'd almost said desirable but the context wasn't correct. Well, it would always be correct when regarding Tweek because there would never be a situation in which he wouldn't want to hear me call him desirable. But I wanted to reassure him more than I wanted to compliment him. Although I  _did_  want to compliment him. Just not the same compliment that meant stimulating him by referring to his mental issues as something I desired. Even though I did. I just didn't want to make this sexual. "There's nothing wrong with you, Tweek."

The blonde wrapped his fingers around my wrists and nuzzled his face into the palm of one of my hands. His eyes had started tearing, and as he blinked, they got worse. I wasn't sure if they were just watering because of the vivid clarity of our connection or if something I'd said had made him cry. He let out a shaky breath and tightened his hold on me, inching closer to sidle his legs across my thighs. "Craig," he whispered brokenly. The pads of his fingers pressed against the insides of my wrists and he swallowed once before adding, "I like you." His eyes widened briefly and he said it again. "I—I like you so much."

 _Hmm._  It was surprisingly nice hearing him say it. There was another thing I wanted to hear him say, though. My thumbs stroked the apples of his cheeks which had grown warm and pink. "Am I the cockblock crush?" His body tensed for an instant before reverting back to a noodle-like consistency that needed to lean against me for support.

Tweek let out a whoosh of a giggle and I wondered how much built up tension from trying to keep his secret had just been released in that single breath. "You're definitely the cockblock crush."

"Oh yeah?" I sniggered. "So there's no questioning it?"

"Seriously?" He pulled away to do what I figured was give me an incredulous look but nearly lost his balance and settled for kissing me instead. "I haven't needed to question myself for a _long_  time."

 _How long?_  I wanted to ask. But he'd hiked himself higher in my lap and was straddling me instead of the tub and I couldn't just ignore his advances.

I grabbed his hips to keep him steady and molded our mouths to fit together, wary of balance despite being his anchor. His legs wrapped around my torso, heels pressed against my back as his hands plunged into my hair, digging root deep. He arched into me, moving his lips as well as his fingers.

A knock on the door disrupted us. Tweek pulled away and screamed, " _What?_ "

Opening the door a crack, Pretty Lady stuck her hand inside ready two shot glasses. "I come bearing gifts."

One look at the tequila and the blonde was crawling over. "Did you need to use the bathroom?" His voice was much softer now.

"Kind of." She pushed the door open farther and peered inside. I was still sitting on the tub. "What were you two doing?" The tone she spoke with was one of knowing.

I shared a quick glance with Tweek who was pitching back the shot. "Secret's out," I said.

Feigning surprise, the girl asked, "So what's going to happen now?"

Another look was shared between me and the blonde. "We'll see," I said to her. Tweek held his breath and bit his lip, red in the face. I had no expectations or guesses or much of anything really, but he clearly did, though I had no idea what I'd do with them.

"If I may make a suggestion?" We gave her our attention. It wasn't a shocker when she told us her "suggestion", at least not for me. "Boyfriends has a lovely sounding ring to it, doesn't it? And  _In a Relationship_  on Facebook. And mom, dad: this is my boyfriend." I didn't bother telling her that we'd basically already gone through that last one.

For Tweek's sake I asked, "Are you done?" He'd taken the second shot and looked about ready to go searching for a third.

"Only if you are." She smiled before saying, "Now get out. I'm about to give your best friend a blow job because someone decided to fuck in our room."

Spinning around, the blonde succeeded in getting out half of his question before he tumbled over and hit his head against the wall. "Your room's still safe, right?" He asked me from his place on the floor.

"Let's go find out," I answered, coming to a stand. Tweek held his arms up off the floor, a sign that I should pick him up. Clasping his wrists, I gave him a suitable tug and lifted him to his feet. He was giggling and running into me, digging his fingers into my back to keep himself upright. As we exited the bathroom, slowly but surely, I gave Pretty Lady a piece of advice. "You enjoy that dick in your mouth, alright, girl?"

We made it to the end of my hall where the bedrooms forked between Clyde's and mine. Theirs was the only one with a light on but that didn't mean people couldn't have sex on my waterbed in the dark. Literally, I felt genuine worry that my bedroom was being abused seconds before opening my door. And then I did, and I turned the light on, and Tweek exasperatedly flung himself onto my unused bed. He grabbed at the sheets and snuggled into the swaying mattress, physically and verbally letting it know how happy he was that it was unharmed.

What I wanted to say was,  _You are so drunk right now_. But then I thought about it and Tweek probably would've done the same thing sober. He was peculiar when it came to inanimate objects and had a soft spot for the stuff that nobody else wanted. His favorites were broken things like straws and the last candy bar in the checkout line at the store. Even if he didn't like the brand, he'd purchase it just because he felt bad. It was an endearing characteristic.

Groaning loudly, a noise holding no purpose, the blonde reached up and grabbed onto his Who hair tie. He ripped the band from his head and threw it a measly few inches across the room. "Hair— _free!_ " The next move he made was to roll around onto his stomach and stick his butt high into the air. His shirt slipped down his back, exposing his slim torso. Making another useless noise of almost-frustration, he fisted the fabric and twisted it off his body, nearly getting his head and arms stuck in the holes. "Shirt— _off!_ " Ass still in the penetration position, he fumbled around with the front of his pants until they were loose enough to shimmy out of. He summersaulted off the side of my bed, laughing hysterically, one foot still caught in his jeans. "Pants—ugh, God, get off!"

This was a rambunctious side of the blonde that I had never seen before. He was definitely short on modesty and timidity. Tequila knew how to do that to a person, I guessed. "Tweek." He snapped his head in my direction, shaking his leg out as he did. His smile was sloppy, eyelids low, and when his pants were off, he rolled onto his back and laughed up at me like seeing me upside was getting him right in the tickle spot. "You're pretty drunk _._ "

"Mhmm!" I watched, wholly entertained, as he agreed wholeheartedly and wiggled around on the floor. He didn't get very far before he stuck his hands up and requested, "Come down here with me!"

Just to appease his drunken wants, I walked around to his front, put a foot on either side of him, and lowered myself onto his stomach. "This is what you meant, right?"

There was a large amount of femininity to his giggle when he told me, "Close enough, Craigifer."

_Oh, man._

Fuck, that had sounded damn nice coming from his mouth. He settled his hands against my legs and lightly stroked my thighs. The soft graze of his fingertips was inducing sparks of temptation. As he let out a quiet sigh, we made eye contact, and I was undeniably piqued at the abundance of straightforward admiration he was gazing up at me with. He was enraptured by me, not only at the moment, but all the time.

It was somewhat strange and yet compelling to know that I had that kind of effect on him, that I could make him feel a certain way so strongly. It was a powerful sensation. How long had it been this way? How long had he been waiting for me to acknowledge this advantage he's given me? How badly has he wanted me to use it?

With a smirk, I lifted my hands and caressed the thin column of his throat, making sure to brush my fingers along the points of his pulse. It was rapid like the flickering of a flame shuddering through a person's breath. My palms flattened as I smoothed them out across his collarbones and led them down his chest.

I scooted lower, hovering above his hips. His ribcage expanded, pressing firmly into my hands, and arched when my touch spread toward his stomach. He breathed shakily, a shortness to each inhale and exhale, eyelids heavy. Kneading his sides, I worked my way back up his chest, mesmerized by the sight of my own fingers on his body. The blonde's lips parted, a slight hitch in his breath when my thumbs grazed his nipples.

He shifted beneath me, hands squeezing my thighs. I leaned forward to skim my mouth across his, smelling the scent of alcohol, teasing him as he tipped his chin up. Instead of a kiss, I directed him to turn over and lifted my hips to allow him a small space to do so. My vision traced the enticing movement of his torso and shoulder blades.

With Tweek on his stomach, me on his butt, I addressed his back with the press of my hands, rubbing them into his shoulders. He was up on his elbows, body angled at a curve, strands of fair hair tickling the nape of his neck. I brushed them aside and massaged his skin, pleased when his head dropped. The dapple of lightly colored freckles there caught my eye and I inched closer to kiss them. My hands traveled down his spine against the ridges of his bones. I bit down on a small cluster of freckles and dug my digits into the small of his back, encompassing his slender waist as I sucked and wet his skin.

Unexpectedly, he reached his hand back and tucked his fingers into my hair, clenching and pulling me closer. His rough edge was appealing to me, the tug against my scalp influencing a harder suck and a firmer bite. My arms wrapped around his lithe form, fingertips drifting down the center of his chest. He exhaled audibly, deepening the bow of his back.

I sandwiched my hand between the floor and his stomach, stroking the skin of his navel in a rhythm that matched the working of my mouth against his shoulder. A noise containing more voice than breath reached my ears, reverberating throughout my head, effectively causing me to rotate my hips against his rear.

The gasp that followed had my stomach clenching and my hand shifted lower, warmed by rubbing against his skin and the carpet. Another soft, breathless sound and I had him in my palm, kneading and squeezing. I wasn't sure of when the last time I touched myself had been and it just hit me how horny I was. Maybe it had been building up until this point, accumulating. But Tweek was here and I could take it out on him. I nudged forward at the idea, pressing myself against his butt.

At the same time, I coaxed his hips to rise, adding friction to our proximity. He tightened his hold on my locks, nails pricking the roots of my hair. A shiver wrung my form as I gave the blonde a short thrust and let my breath out against the back of his neck. His shoulders trembled, head turning just before the rest of him followed. I accommodated for his repositioning by giving him a minimal amount of space while still remaining close, connecting our mouths and pushing at his knees to place myself between them.

As he reclined onto the floor—a hand on my nape holding me against him—I dutifully followed, hooking the backs of his knees to tug him forward until his thighs met the fronts of mine. There was something about the movement that charged him, inspired him. The blonde locked his legs behind me and arched into my chest, vigorously kissing me with tongue and teeth and breath.

I grabbed his hips and lifted them off the floor, slipping my hand around to grip his ass. He sputtered against my mouth, jerking against me in a way that rubbed us together provocatively. My fingers slipped beneath his clothing as I made to fix my hold on his rear, and I went with it, letting my hand slip underneath. A subtle, shaking moan broke the suction of our kiss and went straight to my arousal.

Alcohol must've made him noisy. I liked it.

Heat engulfed my body, racing through my veins, and I let it control me because it was rarely ever that it decided to present itself like this. I nipped at his lips, stroked the waistline of his only article, drifted further from sobriety. And Tweek reciprocated everything I did. He jostled his hips, snaked his arms around my neck, pulled at my hair, and couldn't even control the level of his breath as we kissed, multitasking on too many things to remember how to exhale through his nose. I could feel how hard he was and knew that everywhere my fingers went, they were always teasing him.

My own erection must've been sexually gratifying, grinding ceaselessly against his. The blonde wanted to be touched, wanted me to do things to him. It was thoughts like those that had me bracing myself against the floor with an elbow on either side of him. They left me panting and ridiculously turned on. Taking his knees and pushing against his legs, I leaned into him and found a spot where our bodies would be pressed flush together.

Tweek's hands slipped from my hair to my back, fingers grasping and nails biting as I rocked against him. This would be like sex, just with our clothes on. He would like it and I would like it and I moaned against the shell of his ear at how slowly I was moving for reasons I didn't know. It was nearly painful, but the blonde's broken noises were too attractive to give up. I could feel him trying to lift his hips to meet me even though I was already there.

" _Craig,_ " he gasped, raking his nails up to my shoulders. My head fell back as I lifted onto my palms and a moan dribbled from between my bruised lips. I wanted to be disappointed by the short version of my name, but those scratches had given me goosebumps. " _Crai—_ " Cutting off, he inhaled sharply and responded naturally to the shift of my hips.

Hovering over him, I peered down, watching his eyelids flutter and his cheeks flush. "You," I started—and just the thought made me rock my body faster— "Can call me Craigifer."

He looked up at through his long lashes. His smile was fleeting and breathless. "So you like it when I call you that?"

" _Mmm._ " The blonde met my thrust, fingers digging into my shoulders. "Mhmm." I nodded.

" _Hnn_ ," he breathed. "It turns you on?"

All I could feel was my heartbeat and the pounding throb of my arousal. It was like the more he talked, the more excited I became. Maybe this was a kink of mine and I just never knew it. "Yes," I confessed, wanting to hear him say it already.

For a second, he couldn't speak. Too overcome with rolling his hips, of leaching off the sensation and closing his eyes, turning his head to the side. "I thought— _mm_... I thought you were asexual."

Short of breath, I laughed and said, "Okay." I hung my head and hiked one of Tweek's thighs against my hip. "That's fair."

The slight alteration of our thrusts caused him to moan again. I relished in how much louder he was getting. "I'm just giving you...a hard time." Our repetitive rhythm was taking its full effect as he arched and sped up the motion of his hips. "I—fuck, this feels good." Every breath was a new sound and every sound made me grind a bit harder. He had the speed and I had the strength. He was right: it was a combination that felt so fucking good. " _Oh—_ "

He pulled me down to him and used one of his hands to feel the movement of my thrusts, fingernails kneading into the skin at my waist. His mouth was against my ear, teeth nipping at my lobe but that wasn't what I wanted him to do, god damn it. I wanted him to say my name. I wanted him to moan it or scream it or whisper it—I didn't care. I just wanted to hear it from him and I wanted to hear it before I came.

"Try begging next time," he giggled.

The night ended with what had to have been the most anticlimactic, depressing orgasm I have ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, I actually hate writing about nipples and I've never done it before so I'm really self-conscious about this entire scene now :P


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

_Art distills sensation and embodies it with enhanced meaning in a memorable form—or else it is not art._

—Jacques Barzun

* * *

That morning I woke up starving and naked. Tweek hadn't minded my suggestion to sleep nude last night—being drunk as fuck often led to happenstances like that—plus our drawers were kind of soiled—but I didn't think he'd be as favorable about it today when he woke up sober. So it was probably for my benefit that I got up before him and I had my stomach to thank for that. As a reward, I clothed my lower half and went into the kitchen to eat breakfast.

Out in the living room there were red plastic cups and beer cans haphazardly strewn across the floor. I stepped over the numerous obstacles, greeted my friends who were already awake and cleaning, and made a turkey and ham sandwich with extra mayonnaise because I'd done good last night.

"Why doesn't  _he_  have to clean?" Clyde grumbled, glaring at me from his place on the floor. He was showing signs of a hangover and his companions weren't helping. The Julibeagles kept trying to snatch the cans and cups he was putting into the trash bag.

"Because you opted to do it last night and specifically said that Craig and Token wouldn't have to since they're your best friends," his girlfriend answered.

Looking more closely, I noticed that Token was actually watching television. He looked over, smiled and waved. We nodded at each other. "Sweet," I said, crossing the room to take a seat beside to him.

"Assholes," the brunette spat, throwing a can at my head. I deflected it with my sandwich, but Julibee was harder to throw off.

"At least you got a blow job last night," I reminded him.

He snorted. "Like you didn't."

Feeling snarky, I bragged, "Yeah, you're right. I dry humped the fuck out of Tweek last night."

It was meant to be a joke when he started to mock gag, and it was funny at first, but as queasy and nauseous as he was, he literally heaved right into the bag. And then it got even funnier. "Assholes," he repeated, sniggering this time.

"So what's this about a secret being out?" Pretty Lady asked, ignoring her boyfriend's vomiting. He was an after-party puker; we were used to it.

My two best friends focused their attention on me, Clyde somewhat distractedly. "Tweek admitted that he's got a huge boner for me. So I was right and I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"We knew that already, dude," Token informed. "And I'm referring to the Tweek thing, not the Sherlock thing." When I asked him what he meant, his answer was: "Tweek's always had a crush on you. You were just too introverted to notice."

"No," I objected. "I'm talking about how you don't think I'm Sherlock Holmes reincarnated." He gave me a look, rubbed his forehead as though I were hopeless, and returned to his television show. Cracking a grin, I said, "I'm just fucking with you. What do you mean you already knew about the Tweek thing?"

"Craig," Clyde stated. I was so confused. Was he in on it too? "The first time that poor kid _ever_  got a boner was because of you."

"You guys really think it's been that long?" I asked, glancing around the room at each of their grave expressions that needed no type of answer. Even Pretty Lady. "Seriously?" My mind was blown all over again. "No way, you guys."

Token clapped me on the shoulder. "You never knew it, but Tweek's been going steady with you for  _quite_  a long while."

As I shook my head skeptically, Clyde added, "You've been his chastity belt, dude. At least you know he's loyal."

How many years loyal? My friends were talking about four years  _at least_. A  _minimum_  of four years and two hours away. Was it even possible for infatuation to last so long without reciprocation? I hadn't even been _present_  for him to have anything  _to_  have a crush on. It was like having a crush on a celebrity—utterly futile. And somehow he'd persisted long enough for Kenny to act on one of his usual, cupidesque scheme.

Did it even make sense that supposedly no other man had been able to steal him away? South Park was small and practically inbred but it had to have had some type of offer, a promise of some sort. My sister had even found a boy to placate her hormones. Her nasty little hormones that scared her brother shitless. It was just a tough call to say that no one had attracted the blonde like I—obliviously—had. His quirks and OCD tendencies probably included attachment issues, but  _still_. What was a guy who had little to no need for a companion supposed to think? How would I be able to dissect and infer Tweek's devotion in a way that made sense to me?

And then I started to think about how I could keep him content. Everything he felt for me was incredibly in-depth. There were bits and pieces I didn't understand, and more bits and pieces that I was sure I didn't even know about. The inclination that Tweek's intentions wanted to go somewhere... _committed_  were rather apparent, but I didn't think I'd be able to do that. Relationships were a weird, unfamiliar chunk of territory that didn't appeal to me. I had no doubt that I could keep one. It wasn't about the honesty or loyalty that didn't do it for me. It was that the idea behind a relationship—the reassurance and the unity—which were things that I just didn't need.

Certain people didn't want to get married, certain people didn't want to have children, certain people didn't want a title. A simple word could change every detail so fractionally that it became a drastic difference overall, and that wasn't something that I wanted to be a part of.

I'd only just affirmed his crush and things were already complicated. My short time of being smug was over.

That's when we heard a door open and the sound of retching from the bathroom. Clyde laughed for the beat of a second before hovering his face over the trash bag on the verge of barfing for a second time, breathing deeply with saliva dripping from his lips. "You're not alone anymore," I congratulated. On my way to the bathroom, I slapped him on the back to induce his stomach into revolt.

Inside I got an earful of heightened vomiting sounds. There was the splash of bile hitting toilet water and Tweek sniffling. His figure was hunched over the toilet bowl, shoulders quivering and knuckles white. He was wearing a pair of my boxers. Smirking, I shut the door behind me and grabbed a washcloth to dampen it with cold water. Clyde loved being coddled when he had a hangover, so hopefully the blonde would be the same, because I was pretty good at it.

Once I knelt down behind him, I took the wet towel and placed it between his shoulder blades, watching as his body tensed briefly. He breathed audibly to control the nausea in his stomach and slumped against me, head cradled just beneath my collarbone. I moved the cloth down his back and used my free hand to swipe at his chin, wiping away any excess vomit from his lips. His groan was one of mortification.

"I'm s-sorry," he apologized over the flush of the toilet.

"Don't worry about it." The towel returned to his shoulders where I hugged him with it, listening as he sighed and nuzzled his face against my chest. "I don't mind."

"And about last night," he began, trailing off shyly.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You should apologize for that. Not saying my name and all."

I felt his lips curve against my skin. "Why would I? It's all p-part of my plan."

"Your plan, huh?" Laying the washcloth on the back of his neck, I asked, "What plan is this?"

"My plan to seduce you," the blonde answered.

"And you think that not giving me what I want will seduce me?"

"Yes." He sounded different, sure of himself. "It'll make you want me more."

In a way, he was correct. I did kind of want a repeat of last night just so that I could hear him say my name. "Are you sure you can do that?" I asked. "Give me what I want?"

"Well, you like it when I call you Craigifer." The hint of a shiver rippled down my spine. "So yeah, I think I can." But then he said, "You need to teach me how to s-seduce a man first."

As an automatic response, I died. I fell away from him and landed limp on the tile floor. Not only had I forgotten about our wresting, dirty talk, and art of seduction lessons, but Tweek really had no idea what he was doing. His "plan" had been a bluff.

Tentatively, so as not to disrupt his stomach, he crawled next to me and curled up against my side. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks before you leave," I said. "What's the latest you're allowed to stay out?"

"However long I want," he answered bitterly.

But he lived under his mom and dad's roof and their law was superior. "When do your parents want you home, Tweek?"

"I can show up whenever I feel like it." So basically, the same answer.

"At what point in time will your parents be pissed that you're not home?" He rolled away from me and faced the opposite direction. I followed after him, unwelcome when he didn't respond to my advance.

Sighing, I laid my hand on his thigh and tucked my fingers beneath the fabric of my boxers he was wearing. It would be harder to ignore a physical approach. "You have a crush on me," I reminded him, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You want your parents to like me so don't let me ruin this."

He was silent for a while and I wondered if I'd upset him by using that as a weapon. I wasn't even sure if he remembered telling me that he liked me last night. He wasn't freaking out, though, just tense and unhappy. Had he been unaware of this knowledge I now had, I think he would've thrown up again. Instead, his eventual reaction was to grumble frustratedly as he leaned into my back and muttered, "M-midnight."

"That's all you had to say," I told him, chuckling. My hand slipped further up his thigh, hand practically encompassing its entirety. He tried to control his next breath and I could tell how hard he was focusing on keeping it even. "Go ahead and brush your teeth and drink some water. I'll get you your medicine."

"D-do you know what to get?" He asked hurriedly, alarmed when I began to sit up.

Nodding my head, I said, "Yeah. I memorized what you need to take and when." His dad had given me the rundown upon my request. I was good at memorizing on the spot. Eszopiclone for insomnia before bed, Celexa in the morning or evening for OCD, Propranolol three to four times daily for anxiety, Risperdal once or twice for his stutter, and if he got particularly bad, Prozac for his paranoia.

The farthest I got was to my knees when Tweek rose up and kissed me. He stayed put for a second before jerking away. "I-I'm so sorry. That...probably tasted like throw up."

"A little," I admitted, checking the flavor of my lips. Leaning down, I pecked his mouth once more and then officially stood up.

As I left, it wasn't difficult to miss the soft ogle he was showering me with. That must've been what wiping vomit off his mouth with my bare hand and kissing his unsanitary lips called for. It really was a shame that I was so unattainable when I was such boyfriend material.

After retrieving a select amount of pills from Tweek's collection of medication, I grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen, and returned to the bathroom where I walked in on the blonde emptying the liquid contents of stomach a second time. He'd been doing so good, too. I rewet the washcloth, allowing it to soak up enough water so that when I held it above his back I could squeeze out tiny rivers. Clear tendrils ran in broken patterns down his skin. He hummed approvingly, easing himself off the floor, and had me watching attentively as he flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and started brushing his teeth.

Halfway through I began to notice how he was slowly lowering himself toward the sink, and by the time he was finished, he nearly had his face in the bowl. He was fatigued. "Come on," I instructed, handing him his medication and the water. "Take these and then we're going to go lay down." I had to lead him down the hallway to get him there without crawling, but lost him at the door and put down pillows and blankets because the floor was the only place he was going.

Settling in next to him, I interwove our legs and placed his head on my bicep, an arm around his back. He snuggled up to me rather merrily, pressing his nose against my skin and inhaling deeply. His eyes were a lost cause, lashes stuck to his cheeks. The lightly colored circles around them were a tone darker, more noticeable. "Is it okay if I t-think you're perfect?" He murmured.

"Oh man," I sniggered. "Are you still drunk? Soon you'll be calling me your God and that my eyes are the color of heaven's crystal rivers."

Even though he called me a jerk, there was an affectionate smile on his face.

"So why am I so flawless?"

His shoulders moved in what might've been the semblance of a shrug. "I don't know," he breathed.

When I asked him if he was lying, he said that he was.

"That's not very fair," I argued. "You tell me I'm perfect but you won't tell me why. Now I'm curious." Teasingly I added, "You won't like me when I'm curious."

He grinned as though he knew something I didn't. "I like you however you are."

"Oh no. Here comes the part about—" Tweek cut me off unexpectedly by rolling on top of me.

Knees hugging my waist, he leaned over and suggested against my lips, "You should teach me how to seduce a man." His voice was breathy and soft, warm where his words touched my mouth. I could feel his hands braced against my chest, nails grazing my collarbones. Another surprise came in the form of his body shifting lower, placing him in a position over of my abdomen.

I wanted to grab his ass and roll our hips together—after last night, he'd left me with nothing but impatience—only I didn't want to teach him how to seduce someone that way. I wanted him to learn how to ease arousal out of a man, specifically me. So the first thing I said was accompanied by a smirk. "Well, I'd say the least amount of clothes, the better."

"I'm doing good so far then?" He asked, our lips brushing.

"I don't know," I mused, feigning obliviousness. "Do I have a boner yet?"

"That's a good question. Let me check." Without warning, he wiggled his hips around and shook his butt. "Nope. We're good."

It got me to laugh and say, "You have a tendency to be playful. That can be a way of seduction." He smiled timidly, reverting back to his shy self. "How about any illicit fantasies?"

"Like sex-wise?" He blanched. I nodded my head. "That's going to t-turn a man on? Sex fantasies?"

Maybe I was a fucking idiot when I never realized his crush on me, but if he hadn't been aware that sexual fantasies turned people on then there really wasn't any hope for either of us. "Just talking about it stimulates the mind in the same way that thinking about it does. Usually something raunchy works good. And since, you know, they'll be about me..."

His glare stemmed from embarrassment. "I don't think—"

"You can't tell me you haven't thought dirty, wild things about me. I'll be so disappointed and then I'll never get a boner."

"I haven't—" Cheeks flaming, he continued with, "It's nothing  _serious_." At my sudden grin, his expression turned humiliated. "Just—like, ugh. Okay. In high school, there were times when you'd just show up, like" —he pushed his bangs from his forehead frustratedly— "at Kenny's house or at a party or something—I don't know." To lessen his turmoil, I helped him move his hair from his face, tucking strands of fair hair behind his ears and keeping them from his eyes. "I'd just think like, I wanted you t-to push me against the wall or something. That was it."

And that was as risqué as Tweek Tweak could get.

How unfortunate.

I tried not to laugh, but it was hard when the blonde was genuinely embarrassed about what he considered raunchy: that he wanted me to push him against a wall. I mean, it certainly had the  _potential_  to become kinky... This poor, naive boy just wasn't going to get there anytime today.

Despite the humor behind it, his anecdote had at least given me an idea of how longterm this crush was. Not only was it four years ago, but past that and into high school.

"Yeah?" He growled. "What are some of _your_  fantasies then? Let's hear how asexual you really are."

I had begun to notice that my supposed asexuality was something that he liked to attack.

"Alright." His mouth twitched at my indifference to the subject. I'd go with a classic. "Token's always considering a motorcycle—"

He immediately rejected the thought, quite clearly short of breath. "M-maybe a different one..." I think he might've liked the idea of me and a motorcycle. That or it was Token. Token could alter even the most terrifying of situations into a charming one.

"No?" I was just rubbing it in now and Tweek knew it. "I didn't even get to suggest the things we should do if he does get one." I watched closely for him to react to my specification of  _we_  and found it in the drop of his features. Too quickly he went from angry to neutral, swallowing in time with the change. "Do you want to hear the ones where you're exclusively involved, then?"

It took him a second before he found the ability to nod dumbly. Passing my thumb along the shell of his ear, I shared with him a few scenarios from my head. To be completely honest, I was thinking them up on the spot, the first of which wasn't necessarily mine so much as it was meant for him. He would think it was pretty goddamn illicit. "That couch out in the living room..." I paused and waited to calculate his response. He shook his head, but he seemed a little unsure about it. I tucked my fingers into his hair around the back of his head. None of these were the effect that I was looking for, but once I found something that inclined his interest, I would experiment with it. A few more suggestions, then.

This one I had actually reminisced once. "When I picked you up the other day and we were on that bench outside the restaurant." As I was staring into his eyes, my own half-mast, his pupils dilated. This was a reaction that encouraged me. "You put my cigarette in your mouth and watching you smoke had actually really attracted me. I liked it because it was mine and because there are other things that I own that I could—"

"Okay." He stopped me right there, fingernails biting into my skin. "You're uh—p-pretty good at this." It wasn't funny anymore so much as it was downright cute. I'd only described what had literally happened—not what happened in my head afterwards. None of those had been fantasies yet. His overall innocence in a general sense was turning me on, and I would've told him that, but he wanted to leave the fantasy category prematurely. "What's next?"

"Some guys like it hard to get," I mused. "They like the challenge and the satisfaction of dominating. Like your name trick." Tweek smirked proudly, a conniving edge hidden away beneath his egotism. I went ahead and let him take the win because he'd definitely gotten me with it. "Subtle touches are nice, too. We've done a lot of those, I'd say." His imperceptible nod got a chuckle out of me. "That and proximity. Little things like that are signs that you're interested."

As I considered my best friends and their individual interests, I added, "Clyde likes vulgar text messages in public. Like when his girlfriend texts him that she wants him to eat her out, he gets turned on. You can always tell because he'll be like, 'dude, my girlfriend totally wants my nuts. She just told me herself.'" I imitated his voice and everything, earning Tweek's laughter in tandem.

A forgotten fragment resurfaced. Before I lost it, I threw it into my lesson. "When I mentioned being subtle, that's really an essential part of seducing. If you touch yourself—not sexually because we're being subtle here—but just an indistinct brush against the neck or lips is very appealing. It attracts the eye, and if you attract my eye to your lips, I'm going to be like, 'hey, those are some nice lips. Maybe I want to kiss them.'"

Tweek was giggling, a sure sign that I'd wooed him straight to the bone. The best part was that I wasn't even giving him tips for men as an overall consensus. I was giving him tips for  _me_. These were all of the things that  _I_  was aroused by, minus Clyde's little kink. My best friend just always had to get thrown in there somehow.

"W-what about the hair thing?"  _Oh yes, the hair thing._  The hair thing was  _very_  effective. "You like it when your hair is pulled."

"Stimulation of the hair follicles, yes, that feels mighty fine," I agreed.

"And you like scratching, too." As though to emphasize his point, the blonde took his nails and drew pressured lines down my pectorals.

"I do," I said, slipping my hands up his thighs, fingers shifting beneath the boxers he wore. His nails bit a little harder and my pulse jolted in response. "I'm not going to lie, but every time you take your clothes off I'm like...that's pretty nice."

He smiled and licked his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. He refrained from looking at me as he did it, though. "So every time I want to seduce you, I should just undress?"

" _Mhmm._ "

Rolling his eyes, he asked, "What else do you like?"

 _Now_  we were onto me even though that was the only place we've been this entire time. The difference was that Tweek had instigated the specification himself. I smirked. "That's a bit bold of you."

"I did say I'd be seducing  _you,_  didn't I?" His voice quavered slightly, nervous now.

"You might've. I can't remember all that well."

He stared at my stomach, blushing at my fib. His fingertips ghosted up my sides, rising to my shoulders where they followed the length of my arms down to my wrists. The featherlight touch gave me goosebumps. Gripping them, he flipped my hands around and laced our fingers together. I could practically see the heat rising toward his face as he took my arms and pinned them beside my head.

"Craig," he started, sweetly stating my name. My eyes trailed up the expanse of his angled chest before ultimately meeting his hooded gaze. It was an encompassing thing, shrouded by long lashes, hazy and deep. "Tell me what turns you on so that I can seduce you, please."

Chuckling at the innocence radiating throughout his bashful show, I relented and said, "Only because you said the magic word."

A sharp glint flickered behind his earnest eyes. "I can think of another magic word,  _Craigifer_."

My stomach clenched, fingers yawning only to clamp down around his own. Our mouths joined in unison, fervent in the way Tweek's grip tightened and his lips parted. Moist, warm saliva made our conjoined kisses fluid, the movement of our mouths slippery. In order to bring himself closer, lower, he had to shift his hips, not only deepening our kiss but rubbing ourselves together. He pulled away to snigger and it ended in a shaky breath.

There was a moment in there where all we did was look at each other and breathe until that was the only sound that filled our ears. The blonde's eyes were large, consuming everything until there was just white noise surrounding them. "I like hands on my thighs. Like when they're just resting there. It's teasing, I guess. Belly rubs feel good, too." He smiled at that, but I was being serious. It was all very technical. "When you're turned on, veins in your stomach squeeze. Blood flow intensifies toward areas surrounding the penis including the thighs. It increases sensitivity. A belly rub enhances that."

Smoothing my thumbs against his hands, I continued with, "And I know you're shy when it comes to eye contact, but looking at dilated pupils will arouse anyone." Just by saying that—whether it had a stimulating effect or not—Tweek glanced away. That one would be a lost cause, I observed. "What about sleeping nude then? We did that last night and I liked it."

"Only because I was drunk! You were p-persuasive," he grumbled, pouting.

"Yeah. That's because people tend to do odd things after they orgasm." I lifted my hips and quirked my brows.

The blonde's breath hitched. Grinning suddenly, he dipped his own to press against mine. "I wasn't the only one," he reminded me.

I hummed in agreement and rotated my lower half in an uplifting rhythm. The slight rocking motion of Tweek's body captivated me as well as the tentative press of his crotch. Heat began to stir in the pit of my stomach as the blonde dropped his head. He pushed our palms together for leverage, growing a fraction more brazen with his hips.

"So." My voice had a gruff edge to it. I knew Tweek liked it by the way his fingers tightened. A wide smile met my face. "Clyde also likes to watch his girlfriend masturbate."

"No." There was no delay to his rejection, but he sounded distracted. I wondered what he was imagining inside his head.

"You wouldn't let me watch you jack off?" I asked, wanting to reach out and roughen the roll of his hips.

His breath came out particularly fast. He wasn't just flushing because he was embarrassed anymore. "I—I don't know."

"You're considering it," I purred, snickering softly. The pooling warmth in my stomach constricted fervently. Tweek's sidetracked deliberation was exciting. "You on top is pretty nice. You look good up there." Tilting his head to the side, the blonde held out mouths together, teeth grazing my bottom lip. "See what I'm doing?" I asked, stretching until my back arched and our chests brushed, hips inclined to grind against his. "I'm complimenting you. I'm making you think. Your brain is releasing dopamine into your system so you're at your most influential state. You feel the most desire right now. Have you noticed the words I've been using? Subconsciously you've been picking up on ones like stimulation, dominating, seducing, teasing—things like that—because language can effect hormones."

"I thought you were s-supposed to be asexual," he whimpered after a short pause. "Why do you know all of this?"

"I'm not a sexual person" —Tweek gave me a look, one that I ignored— "but stuff like this interests me. I like to know why bodies do what they do."

Ignoring me just the same, the blonde asked, "Can you do me a favor and repeat the very first thing you just said?"

"I  _know_  that it doesn't seem like it right now but honestly I am the least sexual—"

He leaned back into a position that left him sitting in my lap and detached our hands to slip his fingers beneath the waistband of my boxer-briefs in warning. "Do I need to show you your boner or are you going to continue to pretend like you're the 'least sexual' person on the planet?"

"Oh, okay." I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "We can play dirty if that's the way you want it." Looking him dead in the eye, I demanded, "Take them off."

His entire facade wavered.

 _That's right,_ my amusement snarled wickedly.

Somebody had told him that I had a nice dick and now he was too afraid to prove them right, because if they were, then that meant he'd be creaming his pants right in front of me the instant he saw it.

"Either you're going to do it or I'm going to do it." My upcoming rant was going to completely obliterate my threatening aura, but I just couldn't stop myself. "And if  _I_  do it then I might have to dickslap you for being such a pansy. And then I might slip inside your mouth a little and then we don't know what could possibly happen. So, I mean, choose wisely, dude."

Tweek's mouth had dropped at dickslap and now he was just giggling inanely. "You totally want me to give you a blow job."

"Hey." I help my palms up in surrender. "If you're suggesting that to happen, then I don't think I could find it in myself to argue."

The expression on his face was one that called me a condescending little prick. He wore it openly, shaking his head in disbelief as he crawled back on top of me. It was a suggestive, attractive movement with his feline-like body. Hovering above me, he said, "Just admit that you want me to."

Taking him off guard, I wrapped my arms around his body and twisted us around. An alarmed shriek spewed from his mouth as he landed in a pile of pillows. "I totally want you to give me a blow job." I leaned over him, bracing my hands on either side of his head and eased myself lower, pecking his lips around his laughter. "And you totally want to give me a blow job." His eyebrows raised skeptically, breaking down when I took his hand and placed it on my chest. He watched them, my palm over the back of his, as they slipped down my stomach and headed toward my half-awakened arousal. "Because you have a huge crush on me and want me  _all_  over you."

Just before reaching between my legs, I took my hand away and gave Tweek the choice to back out. He paused briefly, eyes flitting up to glance at me. The presence of his hand so close to me and the obvious view I had of him with his legs parted was fixing the remaining limpness of my erection. The blonde wrapped his fingers around my length through the fabric of my clothing and squeezed cautiously, testing out its effectivity. I closed my eyes and sighed through my teeth as he shifted his hand and repeated the action.

Insecurity showed through the slight trembling of his fingers. This wasn't anything he's ever done before and he didn't want to mess up, not when it came to me. "You're not actually going to do it," I told him because I had just been giving him a hard time. He shook his head, staring up at my with his big eyes all worriedly. "Don't worry. What you're doing feels good." I thrust into his hand as proof to let him feel how hard I was.

With his opposite hand, he grabbed the back of my neck and tugged me down to him, meshing our mouths together. His lips were soft and pliant, easily parting against the intrusion of my tongue. I got down on my elbows, tilting my head to the side to better align our kiss. Tweek's response was submissive, his tongue coaxing my own further into his mouth. His hand retreated to my naval, fingers traveling over my happy trail. He was in the midst of rolling our tongues around when he tucked his fingertips beneath the waistline of my boxer-briefs. It was a timid suggestion, one that I answered by scooting closer, inching his digits lower. He paused entirely for a brief second.

And then multiple things happened unanimously: The hold he had on my neck tightened, his mouth resumed our kiss enthusiastically, and his entire hand breached the barrier of my clothing. I felt his fingers wrap around me, the warmth of his palm seductive as it grazed my shaft. A low rumble came from the back of my throat, inspiring the blonde to stroke the length of my arousal. My skin shivered as I imagined his dainty hand and heat spread throughout my body at his next gentle tug. I wondered how lucky he thought he was getting to jack off the guy he's only ever been able to think about for however many years. This must've been surreal to him.

Sneaking my hands behind his back, I lifted him until we were both sitting up, him in my lap. He jolted at our new position, grip unintentionally clenching around my erection. A pleasurably sharp sensation shot up my spine. I slid my hands down his back, smoothing out his skin at a slow pace. His back arched as I continued to travel lower, and when my fingers skimmed the start of the boxers he was wearing, his chest pressed against my own. He'd begun leaving openmouthed kisses down my jawline. I slipped my hands beneath the boxers and rounded the curve of his rear, grabbing his ass and hiking him higher. His hand moved with his body, stroking my shaft and grazing my tip. He returned his fingers toward the base of my arousal just as his mouth clamped down around a portion of skin along the column of my throat.

I tipped my head back, reveling in the rhythm of the strokes he was applying to my erection and the sucking, nipping of his teeth. His nails digging into the nape of my neck caused my skin to shiver. He was warm and I was warm and I kind of wished we were on my bed beneath the sheets because that would've confined the heat pilfering between our bodies. Instead, I took a hand and hooked the waistband of his clothing with my fingers. I implied that he take the article off by tugging gently. Raising his head, Tweek nestled our lips together and whispered, "Why are you always trying to get me naked?"

It just so happened to be that he'd asked me that while drawing his touch up the underside of my length. A hushed moan followed his pleasant action. "I'm trying to make you comfortable that way you won't mind when I ask you to let me do a nude portrait of you," I said, looking up at him and the fire in his cheeks. He didn't seem to know how to react and didn't manage to register it in time when I pushed him to his knees and pulled the boxers he was wearing clean off his hips.

"Craig!" He screamed, jerking away with his hands covering his crotch. Landing in the pile of blankets and pillows, he grabbed a sheet and threw it across his lap.

His modesty really needed to tone down a notch. "I've seen you naked before," I tried to explain.

Tweek shrieked something incoherent and aimed a pillow at me, flinging it viciously. "You've never actually stopped to _l-look_  so that doesn't count!" The plush weapon collided with my chest, a simple thing to ignore as I reached beneath the blanket, past the blonde's kicking legs, and shed the article off completely.

"Then let me look now so we can get it over with." My bargain was futile and I had to grab him by the ankles to keep him from kicking me in the face.

"Stop it, Craig." I started laughing, sliding my palms up his calves. "This isn't fucking funny!"

Sighing, I sat back on my haunches. "I'll take off mine if you take off yours."

"What?" He cried. "No! That's s-stupid!"

"No, it's not. It's fair."

Rising to my knees, I reached for my boxer-briefs and had given them one small tug when Tweek whimpered out, "But you're not self-conscious."

"You don't have to be either." As I reassured him, I crawled closer and eased my hands beneath the sheet, caressing his calves to calm him. "I don't know where you got the idea that you're not good enough."

He swallowed uneasily, a guarded expression on his pink face. "I—I'm too skinny. It's unattractive."

My head dropped for a instant. When I raised it again, I told him, "You're not skin and bones, Tweek. You're lean." I squeezed his calves lightly. "This is muscle I'm holding."

"B-But—" Inching closer, my hands traveled down the undersides of his legs. "No—wait. Craig—"

" _Shh..._ " To comfort him, I reached around and pulled more of the blanket across his hips. "Just lay down," I quietly instructed. He was hesitant, brows knitting. Again I whispered, "Just lay down."

Remaining sketchy, Tweek lowered himself onto the pillows and exhaled unevenly. I followed him down, leaning above his chest where I placed a few short kisses. His skin immediately prickled, nipples hardening. "Craig, what are you—?"

Again I shushed him, fingers kneading his thighs. He shifted beneath me, ribcage expanding rapidly. I traced a gentle line down the center of his chest with my mouth, planting kisses wherever I wanted to. When I reached his stomach, my tongue left a moist trail in its wake. Curling my hand around Tweek's waist, I had him arch into my mouth. Broken sighs and audible breaths swarmed my ears and from my peripheral I could see hands twisting in the blanket.

I sucked lightly on the space below his naval and worked my hand past his butt and up his thigh, hugging his limb to the side of my body. As I neared the edge of the concealing blanket, I nudged it aside and placed an openmouthed kiss on the small portion of skin revealed to me. Something I had noticed before was that Tweek didn't have a happy trail so much as he had a very scarce amount of fair hair, and that the lower I got, the more the amount remained the same. By the time I was just above his pelvis, it occurred to me that the blonde shaved, and I was just beginning to push what was left of the sheet aside when he grabbed me by the hair.

"Please don't. I—I can't do it."

As his hold loosened, I pulled back completely and situated the cover on his lap the way it'd been before I'd moved it. "Okay," I said.

His features took an instantaneous downfall. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Tweek—" I paused when his eyes grew glossy, a sheen of tears filling their wide shape. "Hey, come here." Tugging on his arms, I pulled his flimsy body off the floor.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, head and arms limp against my chest.

Threading my fingers through his hair, I asked, "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know." But we both knew that he wasn't telling the truth.

The sigh that followed his lie filled me deeply. "You want to impress me," I said. A few beads of liquid touched my skin. He wiped them away. I smiled despite the situation. "You think I'll be disappointed. That I won't like your body." It was clear that I was right when he remained still, his sniffle the only sound contorting the silence. "I'm probably coming across as an asshole. Like all I want to do is take your clothes off."

"No!" The blonde's head shot up. "That's not what you are! It's just that I've wanted this for s-so long and I never thought it would happen and so I didn't think about how uncertain I'd be of m-my body or—" His voice cracked. I'd made him cry again.

"Okay, Tweek." I ran the back of my hand across his cheeks. "No more crying."

He took my hand and turned toward it, kissing my palm. "I like you. I w-want you to want to take my clothes off. I'm just... You're right. I don't want to disappoint you."

"It's not like you've disappointed me yet."

Inwardly, the blonde tried to fight both his smile and his blush. "Can I a-at least apologize for ruining the mood?"

"Yeah," I assured him. "That's something you can apologize for."


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

_Don't worry what people think, they don't do it very often._

—Unknown

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

South Park was near, the wooden familiarity of the  _Welcome_  sign steadily approaching. I had texted Thomas, informing him of my arrival, and his reply was making my phone vibrate.

_Is that handsome man driving you?_

Rolling my eyes, I sent him an affirmative.

"I've come back here twice in the same month," Craig said. "What have you done to me?"

I smiled because it was true. In some way I must've been affecting him. Something about me was enough to get him to return to his hometown. The one he'd abandoned and refused to ever revisit. Whatever it was, it was flattering and I liked having the ability to make him want to do such a thing.

"Seduced you?" I guessed.

"By your prude ass? Ha."

My cheeks felt hot. "Craig!"

"I know, I'm sorry." He leaned clear across the seat and kissed my cheek.

"No, you're not." There was a frown on my face and I could feel it weighing down my features.

"Yeah," he agreed despondently. "You're right."

As my frown increased in size, my phone buzzed. Thomas's reply was:  _I want to hang out with him_.

"Thomas wants to hang out with you. Not me," I shared. "Just you."

He smirked and said, "Fuck yeah. I just can't get enough gay boys in my life."

"I'm telling him you said that." It was already punched in and sent.

"Good." Pausing shortly, Craig continued with, "So where's his boyfriend?"

Oh, that was funny. "Thomas is a free spirit," I explained in short.

"Ah, I see. So how'd you end up stuck on me?" That question, I would ignore. "Best friends usually tend to be similar in some way."

"We're skinny, blonde, gay, and have disabilities. That's about as similar as we get." Thomas was experienced, promiscuous, flamboyant, and had somehow absorbed my self-esteem. Obviously we were polar opposites.

"Well, coincidentally that just so happen to be my favorite." I rolled my eyes, head thunking against the window. "So I guess I'll drop you off and switch you out for skinny, blonde, and gay with disabilities number two."

"No, that's not going t-to happen." If my best friend got my crush alone, I would no longer have any secrets, and that wasn't something that I was ready for.

"Jealous?" He asked.

 _That too._  Thomas was more charismatic that me. Craig would enjoy talking to him more.  _He_  wouldn't have had a problem taking his clothes off. "You  _were_  kind of obsessed with him in fourth grade."

"I can do your laundry too, you know." Would that have been considered a risqué fantasy? Craig doing my laundry? "You probably wouldn't want me to touch your underwear, though."

It came out before I could censor it when I said, "I rarely ever wear underwear." Eyes fluttering shut, I knocked my head against the window a second time.  _Might as well._  "The only way I won't regret saying that is if you consider it a turn on."

Grinning, he told me, "I do. Are you commando right now?" An answer like that wasn't something I could admit vocally, so I waited until he glanced at me to nod my head. "We don't _have_  to hang out with Thomas, do we?"

My pulse jogged. "So you forgot about earlier?" I asked hopefully.

"Absolutely not."

"Craig!"

"I know, I know. I'm just giving you a hard time."

Grumbling incoherently, I finally managed to come out with an order resembling, "Let's just go to his house. He lives in my neighborhood so head that way."

"You don't want to change your clothes anymore?"

"That I can do at Thomas's." I'd shared with Craig that I felt grungy in my clothes just for the sake of starting a conversation about clothing so that I could find out where the niorette shopped. He liked expensive stores, I'd learned. Although he didn't dress eccentrically, he thought of fashion as an art form and knew of numerous foreign designers. The one article he went out on a limb for, though, were shoes.

Supposedly he had a collection and promised to show it to me the next time I went to his apartment. He warned me that it was quite large and that he liked boots and oxfords. I added that to my list of things I needed to see from him. His drawings of me went along with that. Memory just kind of flew out of my ears whenever I was with him seeing as I could never remember to make him show me. My only immediate thoughts when he was near were:  _Sexy, sexy, sexy I want your body everything about you is beautiful._

Honestly, it was becoming a problem. I really needed to learn how to control my mind, but thanks to earlier, all I could imagine when I looked at him was an eight inch erection and I didn't know who's it was because I've never seen Craig's but I pretended it was and it pretty much turned me the fuck on. There was going to be  _a lot_  of sexual tension between us.

We often made dirty jokes and that was that. Maybe I'd get embarrassed or maybe I had miraculously instigated the jibe and that was all it ever was. But  _now_  when we made jokes, we glanced at each other and my stomach clenched and I wondered if Craig wanted to jump me as badly as I wanted to jump him in those moments. The jokes—we were being serious. And that was all we talked about. It felt like throughout this entire car ride we've been doing nothing but talking about our bodies because if we couldn't  _literally_  do anything, then we could at least  _picture_  it.

Maybe I could make it up to him. Maybe I could fix a portion of what had happened earlier. I bit my lip at the implication of that proposition. My face flushed and I shifted in my seat, wringing my hands in my lap. There was no way I could withstand his inspection of my nude body, and there was no way that I could withstand inspecting  _his_  nude body. But there were other things we could do. Thomas would understand if we left a bit early.

"Where do I go?" Craig asked, his voice alone causing a tremor to slither down my spine. Head still stuck in this morning's events and hearing the echo of his husky tone—fuck, it wasn't smart of me to be thinking of such things in this confined space.

Clueless, I was stupid enough to look at him. "What?"

He turned his head and I  _knew_  he must've seen the look in my eye. Smirking, he repeated, "Where do I go?"

"O-oh. Turn left. U-up here." I pointed at the intersection, realized my hand was trembling, and thrust it back into my lap. "And then it's the fifth house on the right. The one with t-the green car."

"Environment friendly green? Or literally green?"

I smiled and said, "Both."

As he followed my directions, he inquired, "So what's with the bedroom eyes?"

"Huh?" This time I was trying to force cluelessness.

"What were you thinking about just now, peach fuzz?"

Just for the nickname that I  _thought_  I'd gotten rid of, I glowered and said, "Nothing."

"Tell me and I'll tell—"

"What is your point with the whole you-share, I-share thing? It doesn't work that way, Craig. You're not embarrassed by anything you say. I  _am_. It's not f-fair, dude. That's like cheating!"

He listened to me puff out an angry breath before before saying, "We're both informing each other about something neither of us knew." We turned the corner I'd specified. "How is that not fair?"

"I—"  _Damn it._  "I don't know."

His expression was smug. "I'll go first then."

" _Fine._ "

As a tactic to ignore my immaturity, he straightforwardly made the statement, "You get cuter every time I see you." My breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened. That...hadn't been what I'd expected him to say. "And I don't do this, the whole... _intimacy_  thing, I guess you could call it. One time I tried it and it didn't work. So whatever the fuck you're doing, I'd say you're uh" —did he mean that this was working? That  _we_  were working?— "you're doing something right, you know?"

No, I didn't know. But I nodded my head anyways and tried to digest what he was saying. He thought I was doing something right. I didn't even know what it was that I seemed to be doing. A brilliant smile took control of my features and there was no removing it because I liked the feeling too much to decline its presence.

So I mimicked Craig's previous act of intimacy and leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek. I felt the car halt and knew that we were in front of Thomas's. The hint of his stubble scratched my lips, and I couldn't help but pull away only after brushing my mouth across his skin.

"Where are you going?" He murmured as I made to lean back. His hand captured my face, thumb rubbing against my cheek as he directed me toward his lips.

Just like our tense conversations, our kiss was hasty, tongues immediate. We met above the center console, pushing and tugging impatiently at each other. His hand strayed quickly down to the bottom of my shirt where I wanted to stop him because we were right outside of my best friend's house, but I couldn't possibly do that after what he'd just confessed.

Against my stomach, his fingers were slightly chilled. It sent goosebumps rippling up my chest and down my arms. He took his mouth and took his kisses and placed them down my jaw. His arm wrapped around my waist beneath my shirt. I wove my fingers through his hair, gripping tightly when his teeth nipped at the skin of my throat. A soft noise was rising in my chest, leaping higher when Craig shifted his lips over the space behind my ear, teasing the spot with his tongue.

I scooted closer, breath gone heavy as he pinpointed the area and sucked experimentally. The quiet hum of a moan escaped me. One of my hands dropped to the nape of his neck where I dug my nails into the tip of his spine. Craig sucked harder, inching forward to bring our bodies nearer. A hand of his own rose to brush my hair aside as he worked against that _specific_  spot, and God, it felt good. The more he gnawed at it, the more I scrabbled against him to hold on tighter to refrain from making any more noise.

His fingers were digging into my back and somehow the roughness enticed me. _Anything_  Craig did enticed me. Especially when his touch began to wander and I could feel the beating of his breath, the tip of his tongue tracing the ridge of my ear.

Eyes snapping open, I grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved myself away.

"T-Thomas is waiting.  _Oh God_ —he probably knows. He probably  _saw_  us." Running a hand through my hair, I began filing through stuff that I needed to do. "I n-need to change my clothes and I should definitely shower and—" Craig was just sitting there grinning at me. "W-what?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, ruffling his mussed locks. "You still owe me, remember?"

My mumble was practically inaudible. "Right. You share, I share." To buy time, I took a second to situate my shirt and then ran my fingers over the warmed skin just behind my right ear. I could almost feel how irritated the spot was, splotched with red and obviously a hickey. "Can I f-finish it later?" Sheepish was my question, and to persuade him, I leaned back across the seat and placed our mouths close together, the tips of our noses brushing. "Can we finish this later, too?"

"We can finish whatever you want later," he agreed, tilting his head to kiss me. Just as I was anticipating the push of his lips, he stopped, grinned and said, "Later."

"Asshole," I growled, turning away to get out of the car. The door was locked and I fumbled around before making a humiliating exit. On my way to the door, I was mentally beating myself up about it. Impressing Craig was clearly out of the question. I was too clumsy to be graceful or poise around him.

 _Thomas would've made that type of situation cute somehow_ , my thoughts told me. He was an asshole, too.

At the front door it got even worse. My best friend was there to open it before I could even knock—probably unknowingly saving me from messing up again—and while he was blocked by its frame, he fanned his face to let me know exactly what he'd taken a glimpse at through the window.

"Guess who brought that handsome man for you?" In exchange for Craig's presence, I gave him a silencing look and expected him to keep his mouth shut.

"Oh, I know. Thanks for warming him up for me." No longer caring, I threw my hands up and headed toward his room.

By no longer caring, I meant that I took a shower and changed my clothes, leaving absolutely no surveillance over the two douche bags down the hall. I _did_  crack Thomas's door open so I could hear snippets of their conversation, though. What I heard was my best friend spewing admiration all over Craig, telling him how attractive he was and that if I ever got to be too prude for him that he'd be more than available for grabs.

While I plucked clothes from his closet, I gave him an insult for every chosen article. A pair of jeans rolled at the ankles: "Fuck you, whore." A cream colored cardigan with a red trim: "Nobody likes your slutty face." And when I put them on I cried, "Thomas! Am I losing weight?" His jeans were a size too big and his top didn't hug me like it used to.

"Thomas!" I repeated, whimpering his name as I exited his room and walked into the living area. He was sitting on the couch with Craig, more so on Craig's lap than the couch itself. The sight exasperated me. "Seriously?"

The niorette tipped his head back. Cold droplets of water drizzled down my neck, adding to his steady gaze. My best friend grinned and quirked his brows at me. "You chose a keeper. He refused to kiss me until he got your permission."

I expected that. Thomas wanting to kiss him, not that Craig would actually decline for my sake. "That's not what I'm asking."

Pouting, the golden blonde said, "It's not like I can tell with what you're wearing. Why are you so upset about it? Losing weight is a good thing. I'm fatter than you now."

No, losing weight was  _not_  a good thing. I already thought I was skinny enough. And then there was the question about  _why_  it was happening. "But what if it doesn't stop? What if I have a worm? What if it's an eating disorder? What if it's a disease and I need to get a license to start smoking marijuana? I'll end up like Stan's dad. Oh sweet Jesus, I've got testicular cancer!"

"Or maybe you should start eating when you come over to my place," Craig suggested. "And you got a healthy vomit in this morning."

My mouth shut, thoughts dispersed. "Oh." Turning on my heel I said "I'm going to go get something to eat" and entered the kitchen.

" _So._  About that kiss," I heard Thomas say.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a piece of bread and walked back into the living room hastily. "That's your idea of something to eat?" Craig asked, mocking my bread as I got onto the couch, kicked my best friend away, and stole his spot. "I'm taking you out after this."

Settling against him, head on his chest, damp locks wetting his shirt, I took another bite of my slice and hummed in acknowledgement. His arms slid around my body, holding me in place. My eyes closed briefly at his level of nonchalance, and when I opened them, Thomas was grinning at me from his fallen position on the couch. I blushed and sat up to correct the proximity between Craig and I.

"Um," I glanced up at him timidly. "Do you need to smoke?"

He made a face and I didn't blame him. It was an irrelevant question. "Not really, but I can if you want me to leave the room."

The color in my cheeks darkened as he targeted my ulterior motive. He smirked, smug as ever, and patted my back to let me know it was time to move. I rolled off his lap, watching his lanky figure amble away.

"Have fun talking about me," he called over his shoulder.

Once he was gone and we heard the front door open and close, Thomas pounced on me. We landed in a heap along the body of the couch.

"Something happened this morning," I said.

It started with the guilt, and then came the embarrassment, disappointment, and anger at myself. They consumed me all over again and I had to clamp my eyes shut because restating the issue was physically painful. And then I blurted out: "I wouldn't take my clothes off. I couldn't let him see me naked. I was too scared."

" _Tweek,_ " Thomas cooed, face lighting up in adoration. He thought it was  _cute_. My entire face was heating up in humiliation and irritation. "You're too sweet. You do know that Craig finds your modesty appealing, right? Besides, you can— _bitch_ —totally use this to your advantage!"

"My  _advantage?_ " I repeated, outraged. "Thomas, last night I told him how much I like him! He probably thinks I'm a hypocrite."

"You told him?" He shrieked, joyous for an instant before his eyes narrowed inquisitively. "I sure hope you didn't forget to mention that it's been eight years. Since, you know, that's a pretty impressive commitment and all." The still look on my face followed by the diverted direction of my eyes butchered his hopes. "And you didn't."

A hurried explanation came compulsively after. "We started kissing! I was drunk!"

"And?" He prompted.

After a momentary pause, from beneath my breath came a quiet, "And I don't want him to know that it's been s-so long."

I was then crushed by my best friend's sudden weight when he gave up and flopped on top of me. "I don't get you sometimes."

Strategically, I chose to let this particular topic slide and resurrect another. "So, this advantage you speak of..."

"Yeah, it's a pretty good idea. But I don't know if you're up to par with such a flirtatious act," he mumbled into my chest.

"Thomas."

He sat up on his elbows and looked down at my face. "Don't let him see you naked. Tease him with it." If things continued this way with Craig, then I was going to become a beast at teasing. It wasn't that I was even meaning to. My prude tendencies just kind of gave me the approach of a tease. "Slip some skin by accident. Build up the tension." Our tension was simmering as it was. "And then do you know what you do?"

 _What I do? Sweet Jesus._  My saliva was thick running down my throat.  _I let him draw me naked._  In my head I tried desperately to find the image of me nude aesthetically pleasing and the thought of Craig spectating my nudity a turn on. Except it wasn't working and the only emotion I could muster was irrational fear.

"Y-yeah. I think." Why did Craig have to be an artist? "I think I do." Maybe I could ask to see some of his other nude portraits. Maybe I could ask him to do Thomas first. "There's uh, one more thing." Before confronting this, I grabbed either side of Thomas's face and held his gaze. We looked at each other, his tawny eyes so familiar. They drew the truth and fear and uncertainty out of me. "I wouldn't let him take his clothes off either. I didn't know what I would do if I s-saw him naked."

"No you didn't." All he did was take my honesty and returned my fear, the uncertainty. "You passed up an opportunity to see his dick?"

There was no affirming his question, no pause at all. Thomas waited for nothing and lunged off the couch. I had no time to register why he was running for the front door but I didn't like the underlying intensity of his unknown motive. "What are you doing?" He didn't answer and I'd just reached the entryway when he opened the door and disappeared outside.

"Craig," I heard him call out. Peering around the threshold, I saw the niorette looking up into the swarming branches and leaves of a tree. He was no longer smoking and I wondered how long he'd been standing out there for doing nothing. As his attention was grabbed, Thomas pointed at him and said, "Show me your dick."


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

_If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see,_   
_you can find out first hand what it's like to be me._

—The End, My Chemical Romance

* * *

Somehow I ended up in Thomas's bedroom with my pants undone and around my thighs. It was an alright space to live in, I supposed. But what I really wanted to look at were the pictures nearly taking up the expanse of an entire wall on the other side of the room because Tweek was in a lot of them and I couldn't really view them from afar because my dick was being graded by the blonde's best friend.

"Well. I see why Tweek didn't want you to take your clothes off." Thomas cleared his throat a bit. "You, my man" —he reached up to put a hand on my shoulder— "have a  _fantastic_ penis, and if at any point you want a threesome, I will gladly put my platonic relationship with Tweek aside so we can all just have a good time."

"Thanks for the offer. I don't get ones like that very often. Definitely not from a homo, either." As I was putting myself away, Thomas took a rather indiscreet glance as though to make sure he was satisfied with his opinion.

"Damn it," he swore. "I should've gotten to you first."

I smirked at his regret and said, "It wouldn't have worked out. I think I would've ended up having an affair with your best friend."

"Do you care about him?" Thomas asked, looking up at me with a calamity Tweek couldn't manage.

It wasn't a question that needed pondering. I thought it was pretty obvious myself, but sometimes people just wanted reassurance. To hear it from the source. "Yes," I told him quite honestly. Ever since Stripe, needy people and animals had grown on me. They made me soft just like Tweek and the Julibeagles did. This was no matter of liking him in that specific way, but I was attracted to him and I wanted to put him in a bubble. A bubble made out of Craig.

Thomas smiled. There was no resemblance between his and Tweek's. His lips weren't full like Tweek's and it wasn't as straight. There was a boyish quirk to it instead, one that would've ruptured the innocence of his blonde counterpart. "Good. That's all I want from you. I just want you to take care of him."

"Does everyone mean to underestimate him?" I inquired. "All I ever hear about is how terrible he is at looking after himself. They say it in front of him. Do you guys even realize how degrading that is?"

"Craig," the golden blonde laughed. "He puts up a front for you. You make him try to be stronger when in reality he's like a child: he's impressionable. He thinks the worst of people but believes in the best. Anyone could hurt him and he'd never truly see it coming. Paranoia is his excuse in situations when it could actually help him."

This might've been true, but self-esteem was a big part of what he'd need if he wanted to "get better". To be reminded constantly of your inabilities wasn't going to do that. Not for Tweek and not for the kind of person he was. He was the type that didn't take criticism well.

The direction our conversation was heading was somewhere I didn't want to follow because I didn't want to get angry, so I backtracked by saying, "And he didn't want to see me naked?"

"Good lord, no." The good and the lord made this serious then. God, I was going to have a field day with this one. "I honestly can't even guess as to what his reaction is going to be when he does, which is weird, because Tweek has a very spontaneous predictability to him if that makes any sense. He might go insane or he might just shut down and die. Whatever he does, I don't blame him. I was hoping Kenny had been exaggerating, but no, you are stunning even flaccid."

 _Fuck yeah, gay boys want my dick._  "I'm just going to plan it so he walks in on me naked and if he dies, he dies." I shrugged my shoulders and wandered over to the wall of pictures. They were unframed and stuck to the wall, identical spaces between each one. It was clear that they had been put up as they came, age and growth increasing throughout the multiple rows. The earliest was probably around junior high with Thomas standing before a blank wall. It was a nice introduction.

Tweek made an appearance in a majority of them as well as Kenny, Butters, and others belonging to that specific group. A few stood out to me, ones like Tweek hunched over a toilet mid-vomit which I figured must've been his first drunken experience. Another was of him in the bed of Kenny's truck. Stan was sitting on his back, Kenny had his thumb sticking out the window, and that must've been why he was so against truck beds. There was Tweek and Thomas posing vulgarly with a giant penis made of snow.

I was just getting to the following row when Tweek knocked warily before peeking around the door. "I j-just wanted to make sure that Thomas wasn't giving you head or anything," he murmured, taking a tentative step inside. I didn't know why he was being so shy, but then he saw what I was looking at. He dashed forward and slapped his hand across a picture that I had yet to see. "Thomas! God, you're such an ass!"

"It's not a bad— _fuck_ —picture, dude! If it was, I wouldn't have put it up." When he was given an incredulous look, the golden blonde rolled his eyes. "So he's not allowed to see  _that_ picture but he can see the one of you ogling at him in the library?"

"What?" This I wanted to see. I started to scan the previous rows in case I had missed it.

"Thomas!" Tweek cried, lashing out at me with his opposite hand to pull at the neckline of my shirt where he was able to stall my search. I pried his fingers off and scooted out of reach. "Thomas—Craig, please!"

"It's during school, obviously when you still lived here," Thomas explained. "I'd say about tenth grade?" He pointed and I followed his finger in a direction that Tweek couldn't reach because the photograph he  _really_  didn't want me to see was just too many columns away.

"Stop it! Why are you d-doing this? Fuck you, Thomas! God, I  _hate_  this." His screams were background noise as I stepped toward the wall and inspected the two images making up one enraptured boy's entire expression. The first was just of his face: his parted lips and the distracted, hypnotized look in his eyes. The second was of what he was looking at: me from tenth grade, long hair and dead demeanor.

Tenth grade. Was that the start or an in-between mark? "Alright. One down." I pulled away and started toward Tweek. "One to go."

"No!" He shrieked, pushing at me when I got too close. "Craig, please d-don't do this!" I got his back against my chest where I forced his fisted hand against his body and began to pry at his other. His feet were trying to kick me, butt backing into me to keep me away. "Please, please, _please._ "

"If you don't stop right now, I'm just going to pick you up and throw you on the bed."

His yelling grew heightened at my threat.

"Do it!" Thomas urged. "He'll like that."

Turning his head to pinpoint his best friend with a glare, Tweek ordered, "Shut the fuck up, Thomas." It was a quick second where he lost his composure and I grabbed him from around the waist, hoisting him into the air before he could return to his determined state.

And then I literally said what I was going to do and flung him toward the bed which I hoped he'd make it onto. I didn't have enough time to check because I had to look at the stupid picture while I had the chance. He'd been blowing it much too far out of proportion and I actually very much so liked it. Someone must've hit him or perhaps he'd fallen because his nose was bleeding. The rivulet of blood was staining his lips and glistened similarly with the wetness of his cheeks and the squinted pain in his eyes. They were so clear, their green hue nearly transparent.

There was a story behind it. I'd just never find out what it was because Tweek had rammed into my back and swung his arm around. The collision of his fist and my crotch sent me back to my apartment some time ago where this had happened once before. It stung equal amounts of splitting agony and a throbbing ache. My body buckled and my hands flew toward the wounded area so fast that Tweek's own was caught, pressing between my legs in what I hoped was tormenting for him.

We lowered to the floor, me in a broken heap, the blonde a sputtering mess. Over his repetitious apologies, I could hear Thomas laughing hysterically. It didn't feel funny, though. It hurt and I didn't want to suffer alone. That's why I took Tweek's hand and put it in my pants, covering his own with mine.

"I'm so sorry, Craig." He didn't seem to mind the placement of his hand and smoothed my hair down with his other.

I winced as I shifted against our palms. "You got me so good." My voice was weak, impaired by the condition of my genitalia.

"I'll make it up to you!" Tweek cried, smoothing out my brow line with the pad of his thumb.

Something caught my eye and I tipped my chin up to look at it. It was a single picture, just one surrounded by multiple others. I'd noticed it because of the genuine expression on the blonde's face. His smile was so honest and simplistic and his hair had been shorter, messier. There were newborn kittens crawling on the floor and in his lap.

"I like this one." I pointed it out.

"Why?" Tweek was skeptical. Obviously our views on the photograph were different.

"The kittens." Pausing shortly, I added, "Maybe you."

"I look like a doofus." I wasn't allowed to comment before he said, "I was just r-really happy. I'd never seen a baby cat before and I couldn't hold them but I was allowed to s-sit with them."

He couldn't do one thing but he'd been  _allowed_  to do another? My eyes narrowed. "Why couldn't you hold them?"

"Because I would've hurt them," Tweek told me.

"Is that what  _you_  thought?" He looked down and bit the inside of his lip. "Or did someone tell you that that's what you would've done?"

It wasn't that I needed an answer. "...I was told not to. J-Just in case." I had only wanted to hear him affirm that he was being belittled unfairly. Somewhere inside of me my dormant anger was irritated for a second time, but I didn't want to get upset so I encased it in a hard shell to prevent any feeling from leaking.

Nodding my head, I removed our hands from my pants and sat up with minimal discomfort. He clasped his fingers together and placed them in his lap. "Hey." I tapped his chin to make him look at me. "You need to stop listening to these people when they tell you this stuff. They're wrong."

His gaze wavered. "It's okay." But he was lying. He was fucking lying because nobody ever liked derogatory treatment and he sounded so small. "They're looking out for me."

This was ridiculous. Tweek was in denial,  _unaware_  that he was even lying. A sharp tick resonated against the barricading wall I'd constructed to jail my negative emotions that continued to swell the more I listened to what he was saying, what others had been saying _to_  him.

Grabbing his jaw, I forced our eyes to reconnect. " _I_  am looking out for you."

"Craig—"

"You're getting shit from everyone else and you put up with it. It's insulting to  _you_ , Tweek." When he tried to look away, I dipped my head to follow him. "You have relationships with people. You have friends. It's okay to tell them to shut the fuck up when they're wrong."

The blonde rolled his eyes and scoffed. "What else are they going to do?" His tone of voice was one of self-depreciation. "What am I if I can't be babied?"

"Tweek," Thomas said, offended. He didn't like his best friend's outlook and neither did I.

I shook my head because it was phenomenal how lowly Tweek's own thoughts were about himself. "I'm going to go smoke," I said, letting him go as I stood up.

"Are you mad?" He asked, voice faint.

Walking out the door, I muttered, "I'm getting there" and left. A few steps later I heard Thomas ushering Tweek out to follow me but I didn't see him until I was already sitting outside with my cigarette lit and a plume of smoke exiting my mouth. He got down on his butt next to me and sat in a similar position with his arms around his knees.

We didn't say anything and frankly I didn't feel like talking. So I considered this place instead and thought about how South Park was a distinct town. You got inside of it and felt a unique presence emitting from the earth, the people, the atmosphere. It manifested itself in the townsfolk, grew up with us, so even when you did get away like Token, Clyde, and I, there was no actual  _getting away_. South Park was a permanent funk and everyone always knew that this place was where you were from.

It was like the town manufactured its own genes and that was where all of our quirks originated from. The strangest things only ever happened here. I think it was safe to assume that Tweek could be considered one of those. South Park had literally gotten to him. Maybe he had an extra chromosome engineered specially by the town itself. Maybe if he ever had children, he'd pass it on and give birth to a little South Park sunflower or something.

Halfway through my cigarette, I leaned back and rested in the grass. It was evening, the sky a blank blue since the clouds were following after the drifting sun. I tugged on the blonde's shirt and he mimicked me by laying down. He remained stiff and doubtful, a board at my side rather than cuddly the way I knew he wanted to be.

To ease his apprehension, I slid my arm beneath his head and used the same hand to prop up my own. "I didn't mean to make you mad," he murmured almost immediately.

Despite my mood, I smirked. "I'm not  _mad_  at you and I'm not mad  _at_  you. I just don't like the way you think."

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It's fine. One day things will change. I'm good at waiting." There was never anything to do but wait.

"You t-think I'll get better?" Tweek wondered, pondering the idea.

His question got a laugh out of me. "Just because you think poorly of yourself doesn't mean that you're ill, Tweek."

"But what about everything else that's wrong with me? I—I know you don't think so, but I do. And I don't want to take medication for the rest of my life. I'll have twice as much as everybody else by the time I'm an old man!"

"That just means you can get high all the time," I told him. "And I'll be jealous because mine's not as good as yours and all I'm going to have are stool softeners or something."

Only a corner of his mouth lifted briefly. He was looking down at his feet and I wondered if that was what he felt like. Nobody ever liked feet. "I..." Tweek trailed off, seeming to collect himself and his words. They came out slow, disconnected almost. "I don't l-like you knowing everything that's wrong with me and the pills I take or how often I take them." He paused. "I want you to forget."

Forgetting was a rare occurrence, though. Something had to be particularly irrelevant or useless to be able to let it go. The blonde's medication and schedule were important and I just couldn't do that. So I said the only thing that I could. "I don't think I know how."

He nodded his head and sucked on his bottom lip. "Can you recite it then?"

"Zoloft for insomnia. Propranol for anxiety. Risperdal for your stutter. Celexa for your OCD. Prozac for paranoia. Before bed, three to four times a day, once or twice, morning or evening—" I felt like a robot and it barely even registered when Tweek cut me off.

"None of that classifies a regular p-person. You know that, right? Normal people don't have my issues."

As though he was some type of alien species. "That's a bit extreme, but yes."

"Then why do you try to tell me that it's okay?" He asked, voice a notch higher, desperate.

"Because that's just the way you are." I knew he wouldn't be content with that, so I continued. "Thomas is living with a neurological ti _c_  and it's never going to go away. Butters has a stutter identical to yours. Cartman was  _born_  a goddamn idiot and Kenny's had to treat himself for STD's. These are people that are around you and they are  _fine_. They take care of themselves and they live with it. The only one who might die is Kenny, but that's his own damn fault."

For a long moment, the blonde was silent. I could see him from my peripheral and took the tightness of his jaw into account. The strictness of his expression wasn't telling me good things and I wondered if this was going to be our first verbal fight. I didn't want to be like Clyde and his woman. I didn't want to make Tweek lose.

"Then why is my list so long? Why..." —he situated his jaw in order to speak around the tension— "Why is everything wrong with me? I wasn't born like this. My mom didn't have a mental baby. I grew up and it—they all just  _a-attached_  themselves to me. Every fucking year it was something new and I couldn't stop them. I'm not in control and it's hard when I don't know what I'm doing, Craig. I-I can't do anything right. Jesus Christ, I can't even grow up right!"

His outburst shot through my skull. It was a clean cut and began filling up with all of these things I could've said. I had every option, every direction to go in, but what came out was, "Nobody ever has control." Tweek scoffed,  _wanting_  to be put in a different category from everyone else. He wanted the separation and to be alone. "That's just the way it is. You make a decision and then the outcome is random because things happen the way they want to and people make their own decisions and sometimes things correspond and sometimes nothing ever works out. Control," I said. "It just isn't possible."

"Nothing is possible for me, Craig." He sat up and looked back at me. "So what the hell did I do to deserve this?" He motioned toward himself like he was the problem and fisted the grass to ground himself. "What decision did I make that gave me the random outcome of f-fucking  _crazy_. All I am is Celexa and Prozac and Risperdal and bad dreams and a patient. I'm just a patient who's only getting worse and it doesn't feel good! It feels like I'm useless and that's all I've ever known!"

"Jesus—fuck." I had to sit up and put my face in my hands, laughing because this was so stupid. "That's not true! You are so sure of yourself when it comes to me. You're not any of that bullshit you just said.  _I'm_  all you are.  _I'm_  what you have confidence in. Me and this bigass crush that you can't get over!" His stare was wide-eyed, pupils down to pinpoints as he faced the sun and the green was too intense. "Build a backbone off of that, Tweek.  _Use_  me."

We watched each other as my pulse fluttered in my veins. I couldn't recall the last time I'd gotten so worked up but it felt pretty nice. It was one of those things a body needed to do to be able to run efficiently again. A release of steam that swept up the crud and grease building in the crevices of a rational mind. It was similar to an orgasm—the focused thoughts; the absence of biased, pent up stress—and I had to make a mental note to research if the two opposite events really did produce the same effect.

My conscious mind picked up movement and I returned from my stupor to see Tweek shaking his head. "I don't want to m-mess up. I'll do everything all wrong."

 _Cute_ , I thought.

But I didn't want him to see me smile so I leaned forward and placed my forehead against the back of his shoulder, resting there. "Messing up is inevitable and being scared of that is normal. If it happens, then you get over it. If it doesn't, then you had no reason to be scared in the first place."


	50. Chapter Fifty

_In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses._

—Warm Bodies, Isaac Marion

* * *

Once Tweek had calmed down and received a mug of coffee, he looked at the time and suggested that we head out. We'd accumulated in the living room where I had met mom and dad as they passed through and had listened to Thomas ramble about the new online dating website he was currently testing. It'd been a good half hour before Tweek had finally declared that we head out.

At Thomas's proposition that we stay longer, Tweek snapped a pointed look in his direction that shut him up as quickly as he'd spoken. Tweek was then invited into the kitchen for a "coffee refill" where I knew talk of my wiener would commence.

That and I was getting some.

 _Or_  we were just going to make out in my car since we weren't allowed to do anything at his house.

Tweek wouldn't have wanted to leave otherwise. He'd been ecstatic to lecture his best friend about the cons of online dating.

I came first though, I guess.

Smirking smugly, I got up from my seat on the couch and eyed the blonde as he exited the kitchen. His cheeks had blossomed since he'd been in there.  _They totally talked about my dick._

"Ready?" I asked, grabbing my keys from my back pocket.

He wouldn't look at me as he nodded his head and fled for the front door.

Thomas was leaning against the threshold to the kitchen, grinning up at me. "You'll definitely want to break the ice by tricking him into walking in on you naked, because there is  _no_ way he's going to do it himself."

I was so excited it wasn't even funny. "You're an ass of a best friend," I said.

"Oh, I know." His grin became a smile. "He also gave you permission to kiss me."

My brows rose. "Like I do him?"

"You can kiss me however you want," he offered, slinking forward to press against me, hands crawling up my chest.

"Alright," I agreed, slipping a hand around the nape of his neck. "But no hair pulling." He'd lifted his heels off the floor and I was speaking against his lips. "That's Tweek's thing."

His arms twisted around my shoulders. "No hair pulling," he repeated, breathing the rule into my mouth. I sidled our lips together and had just applied enough suction to be able to rank the meeting of our mouths a kiss when he screamed, " _Shit!_ "

Thomas sagged back to the floor where we let each other go. "That counts, right?" I asked, just to make sure.

"Yeah," he sighed, slouching further. "Fucking Tourette's."

Maybe it was all of the steam gone from my body that left enough room for laughter, but for whatever reason, that's what I was doing. "I love your Tourette's."

"I know," he replied just as woeful as before.

"I'll do your laundry tomorrow," I promised, heading for the door.

"Speaking of tomorrow." The golden blonde perked up a bit. "I'm not sure what we're doing yet, but everyone wants to hang out, so you and Tweek should come."

Actually, that was the worst idea anyone's ever come up with. Tweek would like it, though. "I'll mention it to him."

"Enjoy the rest of the night!" He called as I left.

It was a rather suggestive farewell, one that I attempted to pair with the blonde sitting in my car already with his seat belt on. The two made so little sense that I began to second guess my earlier assumption of getting some.

* * *

We were nearly at his house when he stated, "You didn't bring any extra clothes with you."

"Nope." At least the ones I had were clean. "I didn't think I'd be staying the night."

"If you n-need to, we can pick some up at Kenny's. You two are b-basically the same size." I glanced at him for a different reason than the one I got. I'd only done it to do it, but what I found was a pink stain on either of his cheeks instead. "I-I mean—"

Internally I was suffocating with laughter. This was just too fucking funny. Soon, Tweek would be saying things like: "I'm feeling a little spermy—I mean squirmy" or "Looks like we're finally dome—I mean home."

"Doesn't he live with Marsh?" At the blonde's affirmative nod I said, "Yeah. I think I'll pass."

Tweek gave me a look like he'd both expected that and thought I was exaggerating. "I don't know what your guys' problem is. You got along that time we went out to dinner."

That particular occasion hadn't been what I'd call "getting along". The blonde had clearly misunderstood my intentions, and I didn't want him to think me and his turd buddy were on good terms, so I was going to let him know exactly what that dinner meant. "How much crap does he give you for crushing on me?" When silence ensued, I asked, "How much more crap would he have given you if I'd been a dick to him?"

"Oh."

I made a face like  _yeah_.

There was a lull in our conversation that Tweek probably thought of as awkward because he found it necessary to clear his throat to get my attention. I hummed to let him know he had it. "Are you...tired...at all?" He shifted uncomfortably and fumbled with his fingers. "Like, d-do you just want to go back to my place?"

A subtle smirk met my lips. "If you're proposing I stop the car, then just say so."

"I'm not," he said, blushing profusely. "I-I was going to suggest you take us to Stark's Pond."

"Stark's Pond," I repeated, mulling over the idea. "You're taking me on a date, aren't you?"

He rolled his eyes and snorted. " _Sure._  God knows I've always wanted to."

His blatant statement brought a conceited grin out of me. "Then let's stop and get some food first."

"What?" Tweek snapped his head in my direction. "You're being serious?" As I nodded my head, a brilliant smile transformed his expression into something fond and excited. "Okay," he chirped, wistful sounding.

"Let's get pizza then." I made a U-ey and headed toward the town plaza. Clyde had once gotten a job at the in-and-out pizza joint down there and I hadn't had it since. That was probably around six years ago. He'd bring the leftovers to Token's and we'd spend all night barreling down slices because there had been  _a lot_  of pizza back then.

One time he'd spiked Token's portion since our best friend wasn't prone to drugs of any kind. He'd been so blazed with the worst munchies that we'd given him what we hadn't eaten of our leftovers and called it a fair apology. Poor lad hasn't done marijuana since.

"You want to get  _pizza_  for our date?" Tweek inquired, double-checking my decision.

Nodding my head, I explained my reason in short. "You threw up this morning and haven't eaten anything today except for a slice of bread. You need to eat something greasy."

"Fine. But no sausage or pepperoni." After pondering his restrictions for a moment, he added, "Or bacon."

"Half pepperoni," I bargained.

"Buy me a side salad and I'll think about it."

 _You a little shit._  "Okay."

* * *

What ended up happening was one pizza, one side salad,  _juice_  because Tweek wasn't big on soda, and absolutely no meat anywhere.

"Are you going to be this pushy every time we go on a date?" As I asked this, I laid back in the grass and balanced on my elbows. The light hues in the sky were easing west, and from the east, colder tones were drifting closer. It was almost as though the approaching shadows made the air thicker, turning the fresh smell of uncontaminated nature into a deep scent.

A chill was buried beneath the dirt, this familiar temperature that was always at the core of my bones. It coiled through the stalks of grass and brushed against my skin in an attempt to join with the one in my body but Lakewood was in the way. There was a furnace emitting normalcy up there and it was churning in my veins, opposing that of my hometown. I couldn't be two places at once and the only place I'd ever be now was Lakewood because where Stripe is, I am. And he was there, so I was too.

If I offended South Park, I couldn't tell. Maybe if the pines had been snow capped, they'd look angry. Maybe if the pond had been frozen over, it'd resemble fury. Except the weather was nice and even if I didn't want it, I think I was being greeted. This town was too small to disown its own kind, even if I was one of the few who'd betrayed it by sneaking away. Tweek must've helped my case being the South Park seedling that he was. He was what allowed me passage without consequence.

"I'm not being pushy," he said, leaning over to grin down at me. There was a halo of sky around his head and a second making up his wild hair. His teeth were all wide and straight, his eyes just the same. They were vibrant, energized by the adoration he had to have been feeling. He was on a date with me, of course that was what he'd be feeling. It was an emotion ranked high above the others.

"No?" He shook his head, blonde locks fluttering around, and bit down on his bottom lip, muted rose pinched white. "Then where's the pepperoni on my pizza?"

"I don't want to k-kiss you when there's meat on your breath." As though it would woo me, he pouted and the color returned to his jutted lip.

"Who said I'd be kissing you?"

His eyebrows knit and his jaw dropped. "Okay. Maybe I am pushy.  _I_  said you'd be kissing me." He lowered onto an elbow and reduced the proximity between us. The tips of our noses brushed and his breath puffed against my mouth. All of the little sensations he was producing were enticing.

I tilted my head, attentive to the way his gaze dropped to rest on my lips. I could practically feel it hovering there and inclined my chin to kiss him.

He smirked and carefully turned away before rising entirely. There was a flirtatious glint in his eyes as he backed away, bare feet stepping slowly from toe to heel. Arms akimbo, the blonde tugged at the first button on his cardigan and pulled it through the hole. His fingers fell to the next, and I watched his retreating form in a state of unconcealed interest. The sliver of his chest that grew with the loss of each button had me rising to my palms, curiosity in the squint of my eyes.

Once the two halves of his cardigan were separated, he turned around and let it slip from his shoulders. The blades of his back were prominent, his waist slender, torso lengthy. I didn't expect it when he left the article in the grass, taken aback by the act because it was reckless for Tweek. He liked folded clothes, not ones left on the ground.

"What are you doing?" I asked, raising my voice so he'd hear me.

"Getting in the water!" He called over his shoulder. By the way his arms were bent, I could tell he was undoing his jeans.

"What about food?" Even though I asked this, I got up and followed him to the pond's edge.

"We'd have to wait t-thirty minutes" —I couldn't  _not_  laugh at his precaution— "and it'll be too dark by then."

After a quick glance back at me, he let go of his jeans and wiggled his legs a bit before stepping out of them. The way he kicked them aside emphasized this "rebelliousness" he seemed to be feeling because only Tweek would think of rebellious as dropping his clothes on the grass and leaving them there.

Entertained, I hummed at his little display and asked, "Are you skinny dipping?"

This time it was him who was laughing. "I wouldn't let you see me n-naked this morning, so what makes you think I will now?"

"Change of heart?" I supposed, reaching back for the collar of my shirt. As I grabbed it and pulled it over my head, butchering whatever style my hair had been in, Tweek's knuckles grazed my stomach. He was taking off my pants for me, removing the button and pulling down the zipper. It was quite a bold gesture and I had to wonder what had gotten into him that he needed to act so coquettish, but I was content and thought that maybe he didn't need to have any reason at all. Not with the crush he had on me.

The blonde grabbed my hands just as I stepped out of my jeans and pulled me further toward the pond. I listened to the splash of his feet sinking into the water and was captivated by the sudden shift of his features. His eyes grew large, curling lashes brushing the bone of his brow, and a sharp gasp sputtered through the part of his full lips. It changed rapidly into a fleeting smile when we made eye contact.

"Cold?" I asked.

He nodded his head but continued backing into the pond regardless. "Good t-thing I didn't get naked," he sniggered.

I stepped into the water, feet wrapped to the ankle in a bitter chill. My toes sunk into loose dirt, kicking up muck and stirring organic plants. "Yeah," I agreed. "I don't regret taking off my drawers just to freak you out."

Tweek gave me a look more severe than the temperature of the pond. "That's not funny."

"That's too bad." I pushed against his hands strong enough to thrust him waist deep into the water.

His expression expanded for a second time, flashing in overt shock. "F— _huh_ —ck!" He saw me trod forward and tripped backwards, holding his hands up and screaming, "Wait! Wait! I can't go any farther than this! I don't know how to swim!" I cocked my head to the side, eyebrows raised. "N-no dunking either! I get s-scared under water."

 _Of course_. Tweek Tweak wouldn't be Tweek Tweak if he knew how to swim. That much I should've guessed. "But it's okay for you to dunk  _me_ , right?" His smile was unstable in spots, not nearly as put together as it should be. "Because I know you're going to try."

My continuous strides were terrifying him and he ogled up at me defenseless as I encircled his waist with my hands and hoisted him up where he reached out and scrabbled with slippery fingers against my shoulders to find purchase there, his legs around my back, thighs pressed tight against my hips. His nails were biting into my skin as he clung to me, eyes relentlessly large. He was so scared and it was so cute.

"Be careful with me!" The blonde wailed, the hand of one arm wrapped clear around my opposite shoulder. He grabbed me by the jaw, fingers scratching at the bone and brought us nose to nose as he looked me straight in the eye. His command came slow as though his words and I were trudging through the same water. "Do not drop me."

The grave seriousness of his tone made me crack a grin. "I've got you," I assured him, slipping my arms around his back. His body was so flush against my own that I could almost link my elbows together.

"Are you s-sure?" His voice lost its threatening edge, now barely a whimper. Humming undoubtedly, I squeezed his sides and slid forward, bringing the waterline to my ribs. "W-where are you taking us?" At my answer of a little farther out, he said, "I've never been that far. I've never been  _this_  far."

"It'll be fine." He peered over his shoulder and came back around looking unconvinced. "It's only fifteen feet deep. We won't be going that far, though."

"Fifteen feet?" His echo was shaking. "That's t-two of you, dude!"

I chuckled amusedly, flattered. "I'm not  _that_  tall."

"H-how tall are you?" He asked, gazing at me curiously. It was a mixture of distraction's sake and honest eagerness to know.

"Six-four." The cold grazed my collarbones and Tweek's pectorals. A shiver brought goosebumps to his skin.

His mouth worded a silent, "Oh." It took him a moment to compose himself before he stated, "You're almost a foot taller than me."

A grin stretched across my lips as I drifted around in a circle, going no deeper into the pond. "Do you like that?"

"Yeah," he admitted bashfully, blushing and turning his eyes away. "You've always been t-tall."

"That's what having an ogre as a dad gets you." Something about my utterly honest fact got him to crack up laughing, easing his tension of being in the water and allowing him to give on the vice grip he had on me. I could feel the indents of his fingernails in my skin, a sharp sensation that I was undeniably attracted to. "Speaking of my dad," I mused lightly so as not to spook him. "Free coffee?"

For a mere second the blonde made a defensive face as though he could lie about my mother's words. In the same second he realized he couldn't and settled for blushing furiously as a replacement expression.

"I..." His features took on all of those slight downfalls that I'd seen in him the first time I saw him in my studio arts class. "If I ignored him then—I don't know. You would've been gone entirely, y-you know? I just—I couldn't do it. It helped me—...f-fuck." I got the impression that he'd just said something he hadn't meant to. He bit his lip hard as punishment.

"What did it help you do?" The blonde shook his head and bit down harder. Tears sprung to his eyes, not from his mistake but the pain. "Tweek." I raised a hand and pushed my thumb against the dip of his chin. He released his lip, albeit unwillingly.

To keep him from attacking it again, I brought his face closer and licked at his abused lip. His breath hitched for an instant before he turned my lick into a kiss. It was hurried and rough, his fingers curling in the hair at the nape of my neck. My arms urged him closer and his legs hugged me tighter. A mewling sound slipped between our mouths and the blonde's other hand presented itself by caressing my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek.

He tore our kiss in half, pressing our foreheads together. His bottom lip was between his teeth again, this time as he sucked on it. I watched his eyes close and scrunch as though he were hurt, patient as he sorted himself out. "It helped me..." His eyes blinked open. "It helped me cope."

"Giving my dad free coffee helped you cope when I moved?"

His head shook at my inability to understand, keeping our foreheads together as he did. "I've liked you for a  _long_  time, Craig." He scoffed at himself as much as he did me. "A-and I have attachment issues. I didn't mean to and I don't know how I did but I attached myself to you and I-I couldn't get rid of it and then you moved and I didn't understand b-because I thought you were always going to be here and I was going to be okay with just—with being n-near you even if I was nothing to you but you were g-gone and I—"

Tweek was breathing heavily, brows knit together like he didn't understand anymore than he did when I left. His fingers were both digging into my skin and trembling, eyes flickering with too many emotions that I couldn't comprehend and just enough that I could vividly interpret that he needed to calm down. I'd lost something once and I didn't want the blonde to remember it just like  _I_  didn't want to remember it.

Different occasions, same basic anguish. It could put you in a funk that was difficult to remove yourself from. Art was my neutralizer to the acidic burn of permanent absence, but Tweek was far more complicated than me even if my absence hadn't been as permanent as other circumstances. I needed something that would penetrate these damaged bits of himself which had resurfaced, something significant that he could use to comfort himself.

I let go of him for a split second until our faces were level and he was resting low on my hips. The sudden drop harnessed his attention, causing his eyes to widen and his mouth to part. "It's okay," I told him. But I didn't know what else to say. Consolidation wasn't simple when I had to do it verbally. "It's—you—uh." My brows furrowed. "I...can't think of anything besides that."

The blonde's face was no longer as deflated as it was blank.

_Well, shit._

There was a look of concentration tightening my features together. I could feel it residing there and disapproved of it greatly. Still, no words of reassurance came to mind. "Uh."

A smile spontaneously lifted Tweek's expression. He tilted his head to the side, bangs falling across his forehead and giggled. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I think it's cute."

"You think everything I do is cute," I chastised.

Nodding his head, he sidled closer and warmed himself up with the proximity of my body heat. "Why else would I h-have a crush on you?"

"Because I'm handsome." Tweek hummed affirmatively. "And I'm an artist." Again, he hummed. "What about my full name?"

When he spoke it, he did so in a tone of adoration. "Craigifer Drew."

Internally, I purred. "I'm tall," I added.

"Six-four," he quietly recollected, stroking the nape of my neck with his wet, cold fingers.

The sensation induced goosebumps to rise along my arms. "My winning personality."

"Oh, yes. Definitely that," he agreed.

"My hips," I drawled, swaying gently, causing ripples to drift throughout the water.

Tweek grinned. "That's true, too."

"Basically my entire existence." He rolled his eyes at that, but brought out faces close until our noses were brushing. The look on his face contrasted so drastically to just previously that I had to wonder if it was just me, or if this was some type of bipolar tendency of his. I didn't think he was bipolar, though. If that was the case, then I hadn't been informed. And if this was true, then I was going to be insulted.

"You're lucky I think your ego is cute, too. Otherwise I wouldn't be t-telling you any of this." One of his hands dipped into the water, rising to scatter droplets of liquid across my forehead while he ran his fingers through my hair, pushing any fallen strands back into place. His fingertips ghosted across my temple, trailing down the side of my face and pressing against my jawline as his thumb followed the line of my nose, the indention above my mouth, and then my lips themselves.

I watched him as he did this, investigating me almost. A peculiar emotion was vivaciously apparent in his green eyes, though I couldn't determine what it was. There was a somber note to them, his lips curved into a delicate smile. The two weren't necessarily opposites, but it wasn't like they matched. It made my fingers itch as I looked at this boy who I always,  _always_  wanted to draw because he could make expressions into juxtapositions like this. I liked this ability of his immensely and that was why my interest in him wasn't able to cease.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, listening as he returned his hand to the water. It resurfaced, dampening my shoulder when his palm smoothed over my skin.

He took a moment to reconnect our gazes, eyes slowly trekking up the expanse of my face. "Why do you want to know?"

The blonde was being coy, idly spreading water across my collarbones. "So I'll know why you have that look on your face."

His cheeks grew heated, hand stilling momentarily. "I-I'm just thinking about you."

"Clearly," I snorted. "You're looking right at me. What is it you're thinking about me exactly?"

"Nothing," Tweek grumbled, glancing away. As he rubbed the yielding groove between my collarbones, he added, "I'm t-trying to figure out why it's you."

Why...it was  _me_. My jaw felt thick when I swallowed. How come that had sounded distinctly like a love confession? "You mean why you  _like_  me?"

"Yeah." The tension within my body dispersed. "I don't understand why I'm attracted to the things you are." Haughtiness filled in the spaces my tension had vacated as Tweek inquired, "Is it easy being asexual?"

 _No. Because I'm fine until I get people like you who show up and then my sexuality suddenly wants to reconsider what makes for good boner material._  "I'm not religiously asexual, so no, not really. Usually" —it was because of him that I had to say this— "I'm only sexually active when I'm not sober."

"You're a horny drunk. I know," he sniggered.

 _Hey_ , I wanted to say. _I could've fucked you._  Instead, what came out was: "Whenever anything like that happens, I get a little disappointed in myself because I  _want_  to be asexual. It's easy to forget that when I'm drunk, though."

Tweek made a face that resembled a grimace. "Did—uh. Did you feel that way after uhm...w-we did...things?" His expression registered as a look that wasn't regretful, but ashamed and embarrassed.

That hadn't been what I'd meant at all. "No."

The way he bit his lip was an attempt to cover his dainty smile. "O-okay."

"Besides," I said. "We've done plenty sober so I think it's safe to assume that this isn't me being a horny drunk."

He opened his mouth to speak, closing it immediately as though he'd rethought what he'd been about to say. "What?" The blonde shook his head. "I just told you that the epitome of what everyone thinks about me as is false. You have to tell me, dude."

"Well, I don't want to know the answer anymore s-so just forget it," he contritely answered.

My cheeks puffed out indignantly. "Maybe you'll like the answer."

"N-no." His explanation was a near inaudible mumble beneath his breath. "I don't think you know the answer."

I grinned crookedly. "Oh?" He nodded his head. "Come on."

Sighing reproachfully—he must've been honestly curious for having such a flimsy declination—he asked me, "If this isn't you b-being a horny drunk, then what is it?"

Today was not my day. That's what it was.

I wet my lips and looked down at the water, staring at the splintered appearance of our skin and wondering how much brain matter I'd have to use up if I wanted to go back in time. "Are you going to be upset if I don't know?"

"Of course not," Tweek sighed, obviously relieved. "I'd m-much rather hear that than some other things."

Other things like rejection, disinterest, amusement. This wasn't any of those things, though. In actuality, it was a very odd topic for me. I didn't know where to look or how to react. I knew I should remain stoic but there was unease in my chest and this unfamiliar territory was uncomfortable. It was that and not being able to provide for Tweek. He'd said he was okay with my response, but that hadn't been what he'd wanted to hear. I wasn't  _capable_  of telling him what he wanted to hear.

"Hey." The blonde tapped the underside of my chin, encouraging me to look at him. His smile was soft, pliable if I wanted it to be. I could destroy it far too simply because that was the range of capability he had give me. It was like I had ammunition in my head and in my mouth and if I wanted to think it and then say it, I could kill him emotionally. That he would even allow something like that was unbelievable to me.

This was the stuff that people put up with and this was why I wanted to live asexually and apathetically. No sexual desire. No need for a companion. No useless hurt. And honestly, people did it to themselves. It was masochism.

"You have a look on your face," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"Am I hurting you?" I asked, looking at his eyes to see brimming confusion and disintegrating confidence. He had to ask me what I meant, looking around to see if I was holding a knife to his back or something. "Is what we're doing hurting you? This thing between us."

It dawned on him, the meaning of what he'd questioned, and as his features paled, his eyes honed in on my own. I could tell that he had to swallow but it was rough going down. "Craig," he murmured warily. "No. No, it—I'm fine. I'm not hurting. Craig, it'll—it'll hurt if we  _stop_. Where we are is fine. I-If this is as far as you can go, I'm okay with that. I don't—we—"

Chastely pecking his mouth, I said "Okay," and returned my face to its neutral expression. His bewilderment seemed to have multiplied at my quick acceptance. He was breathing heavily again, desperation having singed the edges of his tone. "That's all I wanted to know, Tweek. It's okay."

"Okay," he repeated, uncertain, checking my eyes in case he saw differently.

"I'm going to take us back." At the nod of his head, I started towards the shallow edge we'd come in at.

My body had grown accustomed to the temperature of the water, although not moving for so long had stiffened my joints and muscles. Movement was working sensation back into limbs, so that when I set Tweek back onto his feet, the majority of my agility had been restored. My only hindrance was the muggy pond water.

That's why I'd been able to dodge the blonde's attack and keep myself from getting dunked. "You little shit! I told you that you were going to try to do that!" He came at me again, laughing as he slipped on the algae and aquatic plants. Our chests collided and the stinging slap of wet skin on skin was like that of getting whipped with a wet towel. Instead of a measly chunk, though, this covered a large expanse.

I had to lunge to get away from him, thrusting my legs through the water until I was about waist deep where I stopped and turned around. Tweek was laughing hysterically at what had to have been the funniest thing, although I didn't know what. "I tried to run so fast just now!" He cried, holding a hand to his chest as his laughter refrained from dying. He about right where I'd left him.

His futile attempt to catch up got me to crack a smile. "Run faster," I suggested just to see if he'd try to do it.

"Fuck that," he giggled. "I c-call a truce. Is that possible?"

"Sure. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't chase you around the pond."

"Because I'm a turtle?" He offered, smiling sweetly from across the water.

 _Accept turtle or chase him around the pond?_  "What kind of turtle?" If I got the correct specification, I'd go easy on him.

"A gay turtle," was what he muttered, moving slug-like on his way toward me.

"Eh." I shrugged indifferently. "Close enough."

"Close enough?" He barked, lashing out at me with a splash of water. "W-what else was I supposed to say?"

"Uh—turtle that enjoys cock. Or turtle that likes buttsex. I mean,  _come on_." I held my arms out for emphasis, water dripping from my wrists.

Tweek scoffed and flung more water at me. "Sorry I forgot that 'gay' doesn't entail much love for cock  _or_  the participation of buttsex."

"Whoa there, kid." I was given a humorless stare when I pointed at him. "Don't get too excited there. You don't participate in buttsex and so you are a  _terrible_  gay turtle."

" _Fine_. I don't participate in buttsex, I just greatly appreciate it. But only because I value my virginity." Now  _that_  was something I could laugh at. Tweek glared at me, his transgression throughout the pond slow but steady. "What's s-so funny?"

"You don't value your virginity. You only care about keeping your cherry safe and sound so that it'll still be there by the time I get to you," I corrected, smug when he blushed and scowled vehemently.

The next splash he directed at me actually connected with my chest. "Shut up! Don't talk about my virginity like it belongs to you, C-Craig!"

But I was still laughing even when I held my arms up and roared, "I am the bearer of the virginity of Tweak!"

"No" —there was a rough slosh but I figured Tweek was just trying to splash me— "you're" —an identical noise jarred me from my stupor— "not!"

I'd just managed to glance in his direction when I saw him leap towards me. He made to push down on my head and finally dunk me, but I pivoted on my heels, and grabbed him by the shoulders where he hadn't been able to do quite the same to me. The grime beneath my feet was too slippery and I lost my footing, balance nonexistent.

My hold on Tweek had him attached to me as I fell. Our bodies were aimed toward the shallow edge, and even as we landed, I could still hear his scream. Water engulfed us but not enough to cover us entirely, leaving our heads and a portion of our chests above surface. The wave we created drenched us; cold water hit my face and snuck up on my nose. Positioned above me, Tweek was given a significantly smaller blow, though still soaked.

His next tactic had me second guessing my reaction to his prior jump and whether or not he'd actually been meaning to dunk me because now he was kissing me. His lips were wet from the water and rivulets from his body came into contact with my own. Our legs were positioned in a pattern, and all of that talk about virginity must've gotten me a bit excited, because my leg wasn't patient as it pressed between his thighs. My arms were just the same as they brought him down to my level.

The blonde arched into me, slick chest slipping as it rubbed against mine. His breath was already ragged, tongue seeking the confines of my mouth as he inhaled sharply through his nose and dug his fingers into my wet hair. He massaged the back of my head, the nape of my neck, thumbs kneading the spaces behind my ears. My tongue rolled with his, practically able to taste the untamable arousal he'd been unexpectedly possessed by. It was raw and brazen, contradicting Tweek's naturally timid characteristics.

This wasn't anything he'd ever instigated before. I thought to myself that maybe he was reinforcing this thing between us, ensuring that neither of us were going to put a stop to it. Or perhaps it was a challenge. He could've been testing me or even admonishing me for teasing him. Maybe he was choosing to play hard to get. Like maybe he would back away and leave me aroused for a second time. I should've never taught him about that seduction technique.

Tweek had me clueless as his greedy mouth unwound from my own and began to lick and suck at the water coating my skin. The graze of his tongue was tempting against my jawline, and to inspire him, I ran my hands down the length of his back, felt the damp texture of his protruding bones beneath my fingers. My touch was aggressive, pulling and clenching at his lithe body and sharp bones. I was enthralled by his hips when I reached them, squeezing their slippery exterior and intrigued by how finely I could cup them in my palms.

Repeatedly my fingers would slide beneath the waistband of his clothing as I rubbed, almost finding a permanent place there when the blonde shifted his hips against my hands and pressed his crotch against my own. I exhaled evenly in an attempt to stave off the heat coiling down my spine, but couldn't manage control of both that  _and_  my fingers as they went around Tweek's rear and climbed beneath the water-saturated fabric stuck to the backs of his thighs. His immediate response was to recline against them, brushing ourselves together while his mouth clamped down around a section of my throat, sucking fervently.

As his teeth tugged my skin, I grabbed his bare ass and lifted my lower half. A breathless noise came from the back of his throat as my hands directed his hips to grind against mine. My eyelids fluttered at a sensation I was so used to when it was drunk and obscure, not sober and intense. "Move your leg," I ordered, squeezing his right cheek for emphasis. He groaned low and slow, situating himself so that he was straddling my waist, the enticing splash of his leg in the water echoing through my ears. I continued to lure him into rolling his hips, holding our abdomens together seamlessly as I thrust to meet his body.

He mewled suggestively, nails sinking into the roots of my hair. My breath came out noisy from the feel of them coupled with the nip of his teeth, his wet skin in my hands and the steady rub of our erections. The heat inside my body was turning the water tepid, progressively increasing in temperature as my ears picked up the sound of subtle sloshing. Tweek's legs spread wider as my grip on his rear tightened, the movement of his hips roughened. Another noise drizzled from his mouth along with an audible gasp. His fingers fisted my hair as his lips abused my throat, quiet noises simultaneously occurring with the rocking of his body. He sounded like he was caught up in his act and our act, too involved to rein himself in. He sounded like he wanted more.

The pond stones beneath me were cushioned by the water, and I didn't think Tweek would mind laying on top of them, so I twisted us around, putting him on his back. He broke away from my neck and gazed up at me with half-mast eyes and flushed cheeks, lashes clumped together with liquid. I leaned down and kissed his lips, wanting them to bruise from what I was going to do to them. My hands shifted up his thighs, spreading to encompass his slender legs before rubbing them to coax a reaction out of him. The sigh that slipped between our kiss was what I wanted.

I felt him reach for me, palms laying flat against my shoulders before easing down. His fingers smoothed out across my pectorals, slipped around my ribcage, ran over my stomach, and the entire time my skin was shivering. A shaky breath was drawn from his warm figure as he traced the shape of my hips, explored their curve and remembered what he liked so much about them. I watched as he into bit his lip and pulled me closer, huffing at the touch of our clothed arousals mingling. He arched his back, strands of hair catching in the water, and pressed down on my waist to achieve a firmer feeling. His hips rotated tentatively, his first familiar action so far, causing his breath to hitch and eyelids to flutter. I lifted myself up until just the tips of our erections grazed each other.

A spike of pleasure shot through me and I had to grab the sodden earth beneath me to keep from jerking my body. Tweek moaned, chin inclining as his blush spread across his nose. I'd felt unbearably sensitive in that moment but did it again because I couldn't stop myself from indulging in the sight of the blonde beneath me. I was the only one he'd show these responses to or make these noises for. He'd wanted this— _me_ —for so long. He'd been so patient. That knowledge was flattering and arousing, seductive.

His fingers squeezed my hips, thumbs rubbing circles against the bone. I hummed favorably and lowered down onto my elbows to kiss him. There was an attractive tenderness to his lips and he complied eagerly to the intrusion of my tongue. Straying from my hips, the blonde scratched the skin around my naval and followed the line of hair below. A tempestuous desire burned in the wake of his fingertips; my shoulders hunched, forehead dropping against the blonde's. His hand disappeared beneath my boxer-briefs and wrapped around my arousal. He stroked my shaft, fingers soft and warm, allowing for a deep-throated grunt to release itself from my chest.

This, I hadn't expected. Not after this morning with my pushy advances and his prude behavior. I would've been fine with that, though. With dry humping only, because we were only going to do what he wanted to do. These encounters were for him. But a hand job was quite a pleasant surprise. I most certainly didn't mind his generous ministrations. And that's when I realized that Tweek wasn't challenging or testing or admonishing me. He was  _apologizing_. My sexual satisfaction was his version of sorry.

"Cute," I commented, voice breathy. The blonde slipped his fingers up toward the base of my arousal before climbing back down. He repeated the action, drawing heat with the motion of his hand. It was summoned from my stomach and pooled in my groin.

Tweek smiled, eyes glittering as they flit across my face. "I thought y-you'd appreciate it."

My features must've been turned on: hair dripping down my temples and between my eyes, dilated pupils, parted lips, short bursts of breath passing through them. I could imagine my own chest rising rhythmically and in rapid increments.

"Just" —his grip tightened, fingers pressed close to my heated flesh— " _mmm_ , just a little bit."

"I can always s-stop if you want," he teased.

The chuckle that came out of me was gravel-toned and husky. It was hard to think of a response. "I'm sure that'll be fun until I get you back."

He grinned viciously, the potent emotion in his eyes cutting through the fog muddling my own. "You're too soft on me to do that,  _Craig_."

What was up with him and becoming an arrogant prick when boners were involved? "Would you like to see just how soft I can go on you?" I asked, fully prepared to abolish my erection.

His eyelids lowered, lashes darkening the minty color of his eyes. He bit his lip and held in an uneven breath. I seriously wanted to know where all of this was coming from because it was sending heat straight to my dick and it wasn't fair at all.

"Craigifer," he murmured, stroking my shaft in collaboration with my full name. There was no keeping the moan from my throat or the thrust I gave to his hand. "Is it r-really that smart" —he gave my burning length a short tug— "to fuck with me?"

Holy mother of God. It was the control. He had a control complex and it was going to his head and he was going to do sinful things to me.

"You— _hah_ —suck," I growled, rotating against his fingers.

"That's funny. It doesn't feel like I s-suck."

My jaw tightened as I thought myself,  _No._  This little gay boy with absolutely no experience was  _not_  going to best me.

"Hey!" He shrieked, immediately losing his bluff when my hand pressed down on his abdomen. "W-wait—" I snuck my hand beneath his soaked clothing, bypassed his erection entirely, and went straight for his balls. A darker shade of pink erupted across his cheeks as I cupped one of the most private, untouched parts of his body. I moaned into his ear, concocting a sound that wasn't necessarily false but  _very_  persuasive.

His back arched, fingers unintentionally clamping down around my arousal as he made this needy, breathless noise that sent a shudder wracking through my body. It made my erection throb. I glanced down to spectate his work, saw myself straining against the fabric of my boxer-briefs plastered to my legs and the cut of his wrist where his hand continued to move inside.

We were done with the teasing and the talking. Tweek wouldn't be able to formulate a coherent sentence. This was a new sensation for him and he wasn't going to take long to orgasm. My eyes focused on his own crotch, the concealed bulge and his smooth, shaved skin above that. I wanted to see him naked, was trying to piece together the rest of his body in my head. It was beginning to turn into a craving despite the thought having merely lingered on the outskirts of my mind since the first time I had intimately touched him.

I wanted to push the wet material of his clothing away. I didn't want to wonder. I wanted to  _know_. His breathy sighs and scrunched expression every time he moaned were making the idea ridiculously tempting. But I distracted myself by paying rapt attention to the recurrent stroke of his fingers.  _He's being nice_ , I had to tell myself.  _He just called you Craigifer. Don't ruin it by ripping his underwear off_.

The worst part was that I couldn't even take  _mine_  off, itchy and uncomfortable as they were. What I needed was a better distraction, to focus on something that wasn't nudity. "Hey," I grunted, removing my hand from his bottoms. "Let me show you something."

As I made to reach for his hand and my erection, he smacked it away. "I—I want to do it myself!"

"I know." He let me grab his hand and place my fingers over his own. "I'm just—" I maneuvered his thumb across the sensitive tip of my arousal, smearing the pre-come collected there, causing a jolt of pleasure to course through me, stoking the fire licking the walls of my stomach. "... _Hah_."

My hand returned to his crotch, sliding between his thighs and coiling around his length. The blonde's back arched, eyes fluttering closed. He shifted against the pond rocks, creating slight waves that rippled around his body. I did to him what I'd had him do to me, passing the pad of my thumb over the head of his erection. Hissing, he dug his nails into my back and stroked my shaft vigorously, matching the measured movement of how I was touching him.

We thrust into each others hands, coincidentally at the same time, and Tweek began giggling. The sound broke in his mouth and came out a vocal sigh through his lips. He rotated his hips again, grazing the underside of my flesh. I rubbed myself against his fingers, groaning at the soft texture of his skin. The blonde squeezed me earnestly and quickened the pace.

Tweek's change in speed left me panting against his mouth, nose brushing his cheek. I applied the same momentum to his arousal to share in the feeling he was causing me, smirking at his moan and rough kiss. He was sloppy as he thrust into my hand and his unravelling had me undergoing the same process. His hushed sounds were making my erection pulse, the pressure of his nails again my skin stimulating. Fog permeated throughout my head and heat spiraled inside of my body.

It was when I dug my thumb into the slit on the tip of his arousal that he shuddered beneath me, arching at a strict angle. He came against my palm and I watched his head tip back, exposing his slender neck. A choked noise was expelled through his parted, swollen lips.

Seeing him react to the pleasure turned my insides into a scalding mess of built up sexual tension. Last night, this morning, my name on his tongue—it was all coalescing in the most desirable way. The next curl of his fingers acted on my heightened sensitivity, and my mouth parted as a harsh grunt was torn from my chest.

I shot into his hand, stomach quivering and nerve endings sizzling.

My joints loosened on my next breath and I was hyperaware of the heartbeat pounding against my ribcage.

When my eyes opened, the first thing I saw through my bleary vision was Tweek staring at his hand. He was holding it between our bodies, gaze half fascinated half fearful. I couldn't see the semen coating his palm, but I noticed a few droplets on his chest as well of a trail of it dripping down his wrist.

If he was disgusted, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure whether or not hand jobs were too dirty for his germophobic ideals. At the moment, he might've wanted to flee and bathe in boiling water.

It startled him when he eventually noticed me, and glanced between his hand and my face, seeming to contemplate something. An embarrassed blush colored his cheeks before he quickly dropped his hand into the water and whipped off his chest.

"Have you never seen semen before?" I asked, meaning to joke with him.

Quite seriously, he said, "N-not really. I was just—I mean, uh—nothing. I was nothing."

"You were nothing." I nodded my head. "Alright."

"No. Ugh. God." He growled and looked away. My brows rose at his flustered state. "I was—gah...damn it. You know?"

"What?"

"I was—" he said, twisting his hands around. "I don't want to be surprised or throw up or something when—uh." His hands repeated their flinging motion.

A grin settled on my lips. He had been about to  _taste_  it. "You mean when you give me a blow job?"

After looking in either direction quite a bit, Tweek's ultimate answer was, "Y-yes." I opened my mouth to respond and was prematurely interrupted. "Can you flip us over?"

Complying, I caved in on my side and brought us around until he was on top of me. The shallow water rocked against my sides. He'd just wanted to lay his head on my chest so that he wouldn't have to look at me. I rested my arms against the small of his back, content.

"Was that...okay? It didn't suck, did it?" He could be the oddest combination of modest and straightforward sometimes.

"You were just about to stick a handful of my jizz in your mouth. I think you did a pretty good job, Tweek."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that if anyone felt similarly to this reviewer that I should go ahead and explain publicly. TheMysticalQ asked me, "One thing confuses me, though: Craig has made where he stands on relationships very clear. Tweekers knows that they aren't his thing, so wouldn't that kind of discourage him from trying to be with Craig?"
> 
> I would desperately hope that this chapter resolved at least some of your confusion ^^; This isn't really something that I've gone into depth with. My story is moving so sluggishly that I fear I will never get to that point! But I've told everyone where Craig stands - no fucking relationships - and where Tweek stands - I am obsessed with you, be my boyfriend - but all of the stuff that's like a middle ground where both of them can be satisfied with their relationship without growing too uncomfortable is murky at best. They are definitely still working on that part.
> 
> I like to think that Craig is conflicted at this point, though. He might very well legitimately fear intimate relationships - who knows - but Tweek is so desperate for some kind of confirmation and reassurance, and Craig's impulse is to provide these things for Tweek, so I think he's beginning to realize that he might need to relent a little bit in order to even keep Tweek around, because eventually a person is going to get frustrated when they're constantly denied what is literally right there. So at least Tweek is aware of their potential as a couple!
> 
> And as for Tweek - also I've realized that I'm starting to explain way more than I need to - it's the fact that he does know relationships aren't Craig's thing that he continues to persist with whatever the fuck it is that he's unfortunately stuck doing. He understands that a relationship isn't something that Craig is interested in but he does know that Craig is interested in him, so he thinks that maybe they can have a relationship and commit to each other without actually calling it a relationship. Also, this poor faggot has nothing else going for him in his life. Let's be honest here. Hahaha.


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

_I want to live without seeing myself._

— Federico Garcia Lorca

* * *

By the time we finally arrived at his house, it was eleven-thirty at night. The lights were still on and the television was playing, the water running in the kitchen. Despite his sleepless house, Tweek was quiet as he opened the door and shut it behind me. I listened as he turned the locks and left before he was done so that I could greet his parents. His mom was in the kitchen of whom I saw first. "Hey, mamma."

Their kitchen was a refined space, all geometric shapes in their designated places. Every appliance fit together: the sides of the microwave parallel to the toaster, the roundness of the coffee machine similar to the spiral of their spinning spice rack. There were no magnets on the fridge or notes taped to the cupboards. The organization of the area was immaculate. A matching set of dishes was spaced evenly throughout one cupboard and cans were ordered alphabetically in another.

Mrs. Tweak turned around from her place at the sink and smiled with her eyes closed, an aloof quality to her expression and the drifting wave of her hand. She wandered closer and grabbed onto my fingers to pull me into the living room where Tweek's dad was sitting on the sofa. She'd left the water running.

"Richard, look." Tweek had definitely inherited her subtle voice. "Our son brought his boyfriend home again."

"Oh?" He appeared relaxed, having been patiently waiting for Tweek's return. His hands were clasped in his lap and he was reclined on the couch comfortably. When he turned his head to acknowledge me, I stepped forward and reached my hand out. "This is a nice surprise," he said, giving me a firm shake native to fathers.

Both he and his wife were soft-spoken although where he was collected with soft undertones of assertiveness, Mrs. Tweak was detached and almost air-headed. There was little she was going to be fazed by. Someone could've easily mistaken her for careless, but I think that she was just unconcerned by situations and her surroundings. Kind of like me.

"Sit down, sit down." As I did so, Mr. Tweak gestured toward the television. It was set to the home improvement channel. "I'm fine-tuning my decorative skills. It's imperative that I enhance my imagination. Creativity can become very dull in the edges, you see. My goal is to sharpen those edges into blades of inspiration. I've got to benefit my family business in any way that I can and interior design is a critical aspect of that."

 _Blades of inspiration,_  I sniggered to myself. _Oh, Mr. Tweak, you're so funny._ Coincidentally, Token absolutely  _loved_  this kind of stuff, the home improvement and interior design type of thing. I knew there had always been a reason why I would force myself to watch it with him. "My friend likes the guy who hosts the show about the next design star," I said.

And once I'd shared that with Tweek's dad, he said some guy's name which I was guessing was who I had mentioned, so I just nodded my head and let him say hilarious things about the guy.

Tweek poked his head out of the kitchen and sighed. "We're not boyfriends, mom." He blanched when he saw me on the couch with his dad. I smiled.

"You're not?" His mom was nearly soundless, seemingly preoccupied by something else as she questioned him. "What do you boys call yourselves nowadays then?"

The embarrassed blonde rolled his eyes. "Tweek and Craig," he grumbled, disappearing back into the kitchen.

"Ah," she said, laughing to herself.

He came back in holding a mug of coffee with both hands. "D-do you want anything to drink?" He asked, coming over to take a seat beside me, legs crisscrossed. I noticed the space he'd put between us and inwardly smirked as I declined his offer.

Just to mess with him, I shifted and spread my legs a little wider. Though we still weren't touching, our knees were now considerably close. Tweek's eyes darted down to take a terrified look at what I'd done.

I leaned back and took a curious look around the room to unnerve him further. There were neutral tones and nothing more. The only pieces of furniture were large and had an obvious use. The television, a dvd player, one sofa and recliner chair, a coffee table with coasters. Objects not necessarily needed were absent. Things like magazines, ottomans, or game consoles. Much like the kitchen, every object had been given a permanent spot and would stay there just as it always had.

It was a simple layout and the only decoration were numerous framed photographs of different kinds of coffee. I wasn't fond of the beverage but each image was an appetizing rendition of coffee topped with caramel drizzle, whipped cream mountains, froth, a sprinkle of cocoa powder. They were frappuccinos, cappuccinos, mocha lattes, hybrids that I had no name for, and swirls of cream made into designs that I recognized as latte art: rosettas and tulips, images like that.

During my once-over, I'd taken notice of Mrs. Tweak still standing on the outskirts of the room, her hands folded in front of her. She was staring at Tweek and me, her husband practically nonexistent even in the direct line of her sight. There was a disconnected smile on her face as though she honestly had no clue that her hawk eyes were visualizing her son on the far end of the couch, me on the other, and Mr. Tweak in between us.

Honestly a bit worried that she was possessed, I turned to check if Tweek was seeing the same thing. His expression in response to her babysitter-like treatment was  _livid_. The way he was staring back at her, lip nearly curled into a snarl—it was glorious. He was genuinely offended, knuckles white around his mug. It must've been burning his fingers, tendrils of steam still rising from the dark brew inside. I was incredibly entertained.

When she tilted her head to the side and smiled wider, Tweek pressed his fingers against his temple and let out an irritated huff. "Is it okay if we go to my room?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, honey." The blonde's mouth twitched. "Why don't you stay downstairs and watch TV with your father? He loves spending time with you."

Actually, his dad didn't look like he gave a shit. Mr. Tweak was going to watch a house get refurbished with or without company. He was too preoccupied to spend time with anyone. He wasn't even aware of the conversation going on around him. Tweek's brows rose and I knew that we'd both made identical observations.

"No," he spat blatantly, answering her as well as correcting the fallacy of her excuse at the same time.

A twinge of fear nipped at my pulse. If I'd said that to my mom, she would've beaten me. And then my dad would've jumped in on the fun because he was an asshole. And while I was down, Ruby would have pulled her pants down and rubbed her butt all over my face. Nana and Papa would've been called. I would've been forced to kill myself before they arrived because they were the worst grandparents ever. They had sticks shoved up every orifice, not just their asses.

Getting up from the couch, Tweek grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. "We're going t-to my room," he said, stubbornly ignoring his mom and heading for the stairs. I was catching a whiff of childishness and rebellious teenager. Being sheltered your entire life could do that to a person, though. The blonde didn't believe he could object to his parents without throwing a fit. He thought he needed the attitude to execute his decision properly. Mom and dad would submit if he put enough power behind it.

Attitude often gave parents a reason to punish, though. This was their house and they liked to enforce complete jurisdiction over everyone inside of it. Punishment meant getting taught a lesson, and getting taught a lesson meant obedience, and that was what parents wanted for their children because all they ever did was care.

"Tweek." He stopped halfway up the carpeted staircase, the only sign that he'd heard his mom. "I think your friend should sleep on the couch tonight."

I wasn't "boyfriend" anymore. If I'd been an expressive person, I might've winced. A parent's greatest authority was when it reigned over a friend—the liability—someone who was almost always stuck in the middle, neutral territory and entirely helpless. They were also a child's most effective weakness.

But sometimes low blows like that didn't quite settle a dispute. Especially not with the way Tweek's fingers had tightened around my arm, digging into my skin.

Without turning around or raising his voice, the blonde said, "He's sleeping in my room." And that was it. He had me follow him the rest of the way up the stairs and into his personal space where he shut and locked the door.

He'd need a moment to compose himself, I knew. So I sat down on his bed and leaned back on my palms. His room was by far one of the most interesting I'd seen. It wasn't the contents that intrigued me, but the lack thereof. He had a desk, a bed, and a closet. His sheets were washed, layered, and ironed—strictly made. There was nothing on the walls. Any loose belongings were either stowed away inside one of his many stacked and labeled boxes or put into his _filing cabinet_.

On his desk were pencils and pens organized by type: yellow, mechanical, gel, ballpoint, sharpie. They were matched to size and the yellow pencils were sharped down to accommodate the length of the others. Once the descending or ascending—I wasn't sure which kind Tweek favored—order reached the sharpies, the colors he owned were ordered from cool to warm. An equal amount of space was put between each one and a piece of measuring tape was fused to the bottom edge of the desk to perfect that separation.

"You probably think I'm r-really immature," Tweek said, walking over to stand behind the chair fitted against his desk. I figured that somehow he'd exacted that as well, and watched him ruin his precise array of utensils only to begin reorganizing them again. Although his back was to me, I could tell that he was fighting hard to breathe evenly. Before I could say anything, he asked, "C-could you go into my bathroom and get me a Soma? It's in the m-medicine cabinet."

"What's Asoma?" I didn't move because I hadn't been told of this. Why hadn't anyone said anything?

"It's just  _Soma_. I rarely take it," he explained. "I shouldn't even have it. K-Kenny gave it to me. It's just a muscle relaxer."

As I got up and headed to the bathroom attached to his bedroom, I heard him say, "It's on the third row. Third bottle."

It didn't occur to me that he still had the rest of his medication in his backpack downstairs. My brain just spaced and assumed that it was in his medicine cabinet and that's why there would be other bottles inside of it.

 _Third row, third bottle._  I turned on the light and glanced around. There was no visible medicine cabinet, but I grabbed the edge of his spotless mirror and tugged on it; it opened.

The blonde had taken the term "medicine cabinet" far too literally. There were five rows and each was filled with an equal amount of yellow bottles with childproof tops. They were prescribed, labels around each one of their bodies. Names jumped out at me: Ambien, Ritalin, Buspar, Zyprexa, Loxapine. And then another, repeated on every single one:  _Tweek Tweak, Tweek Tweak, Tweek Tweak_.

Some were missing from the bottom row because they were in his backpack downstairs. Very few had anything left inside of them, and if they did, it was maybe only three or less pills. They weren't in alphabetical order and the dosages gradually become larger so I could assume that this was how far he'd come since that first prescription. I wasn't as astounded by the fact that he'd ingested so many different kinds of medication over the years—this wasn't every single bottle, this was just the brand—as I was by seeing that he'd _collected_  them.

There was a feeling of discomfort on my face, and I grabbed the Soma so I wouldn't have to look at all of Tweek's insecurities anymore. When the cabinet door was shut, I happened to see my reflection by accident. I hadn't wanted to, knowing that I wouldn't like what I'd see, and I didn't. Not at all.


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

_I am in repair. I am not together, but I am getting there._

—John Mayer, In Repair

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Sleeping next to Craig in my own bed was remarkable to me. It signified how much change has taken place, and embodied the progress I've made with him.

For eight years I hadn't even been able to put a dent in it.

How could a stagnancy like that advance and develop and transform so drastically and so suddenly?

That's how I'd fallen asleep, wondering where I'd gone right and what I'd done to achieve  _this_. This man and his arm and the way it was wrapped around my body. This smell coming from his skin like vanilla, mint, and cigarettes soaked in fresh water. This tightness in my chest that I loved having to breathe through.

My own goddamn  _bed_  felt privileged. It was absorbing Craig's warmth and scent, and even though I didn't want him to ever go, I couldn't wait to lay in his vacated spot and text him random nonsense about absolutely nothing. I'd never gotten to the point where conversation became mindless chatter with anyone before. I've always cared too much about how I would be perceived, not comfortable enough to say whatever came to mind whether it was stupid or made little sense.

Lately Craig's been equally unreserved, and I didn't think it was because he was the same way that I was. There wasn't a self-conscious bone in his body. He just hadn't wanted to scare me off at first. But now that he was aware that he was my cock-block crush, there was no holding back. He knew I would like him no matter how weird he got. That's why he'd started saying the most irrelevant things and talking about the strangest stuff _._

 _What if I suddenly became androgynous but it was a really shitty androgynous and so I liked to wear these really skimpy shorts that revealed my entire genitalia?_ Or,  _Would it be okay if I was into erotic asphyxiation? Like, if I asked you to choke me until I passed out every time we got it in, would you do it?_ But then he'd realize his mistake and text:  _Whoops. Totally meant get it ON. Not in. Although I'm sure you'd love that. Am I right or am I right?_

Craig could be so endearing sometimes.

But not when I woke up and he wasn't there.

I sat up quickly and immediately honed in on the slight seam between my door and the frame.

Scrabbling out of bed, my feet hit the floor awkwardly, and I stumbled my way out of my room almost thankful that Craig wasn't there. And because he wasn't, that meant that he was somewhere in my house, possibly with my parents. One of them had to be at the coffeehouse and I prayed that it was my mother.

From the second floor, I peered around and searched for my missing crush. The living room was empty, and as far as I could see, the kitchen was too. There were no voices or noises of any kind indicating the presence of anybody. I moved down the stairs cautiously, half hoping that Craig had left even though I knew he hadn't because his keys were on my desk and his shirt was on my floor.

It occurred to me that he was walking around shirtless, causing my steps to falter momentarily before resuming in their hasty search. I fumbled around the house and checked my parents' room, cursing when I saw my mom's shoes but not my dad's. It was denial that told me maybe he was outback smoking or something, not picking the rocks out of the garden or watering the plants. My mom would undoubtedly work him and I became terrified to see that both were absent from the backyard.

They weren't in the basement which was odd. That was my mom's favorite place to take my friends so that she could have them reorganize our storage for her. She'd always have Kenny, Stan, or Kyle down there. Gritting my teeth, I wondered if somehow my dad had persuaded him to go down to the coffeehouse with him.

Just as I turned to head back inside to get my phone—I was going to call the coffeehouse directly and see who answered; if they were making him work, I was going to be pissed—I heard a muted thud come from the front of the house.

"No fucking way." My voice was shrill as I urgently made for the gate, ignorant to the ground when the grass became rocks. I threw it open and hissed at the sharp points beneath my feet until I reached the smooth pavement of the driveway. There, my suspicions were immediately confirmed.

The hood of my mom's puny car was up, and hunched over the grisly engine was Craig. I was distracted by him for all of a few seconds where I couldn't seem to cease my ogling. He was tinkering with a gadget that I had no name for, tools laid out by his feet. I cringed at the grease on his fingers and the grime smeared across his chest and shoulders where he must've scratched an itch. Some was on his face, probably in his hair.

His body was what stunted my advance and how low his jeans were sagging. For as drooped as they were, no boxer-brief waistband had been encountered, and I swallowed hard when I asked myself whether or not he was wearing any at all. My eyes were caught by the stretch of his rib cage and narrowed hips. The elongated expanse of his already long torso and pale, milky skin kept attracting me.

My mom who standing just a few feet away from him was what snapped me out of my stupor. She was watching him from beneath the shade of the house with a glass of Seltzer. _Waving_  at me. I almost hated her as much as I hated her carbonated water because of course she hadn't asked him to rearrange the boxes in the basement or to water her flower bushes— _my_  flower bushes. She'd just asked him to fix our goddamn car.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked as though I needed confirmation. There was still some hope left in me that his own car had broken down on his way home and he was just borrowing parts from ours. Anything would be better than having to hear that my mom had been having him do chores all day.

If this was punishment for last night, for opposing her when she had suggested that Craig sleep on the couch, and if I found out he'd done anything else for her, I was going to rip all of my hair out and eat it.

He wasn't shocked by my abrasive behavior, didn't even raise his concentrated eyes from what he was doing. "Fixing your car," he said.

I stomped toward my mom and grabbed her by the arm. She made a noise of surprise as I lugged her toward the front door. We were basically the same height so I was able to effectively make sure sure saw my scowl. "Why is he d-doing your shit for you?" It wasn't often that I cursed around either of my parents, but when I was upset, I became reckless.

They never chastised me for my language since outbursts of this kind were so seldom. I guess they understood that it was a form of venting, that I could put the impact of my emotions into derogatory words and get rid of my negative energy faster.

"The car's been making a strange noise for a while, sweetheart. You know that." She pat me on the head and irrelevantly offered me some of her drink, unaware that I thought bubbly water was disgusting even though I always told her that it was. "He's a boy. He's good with cars."

"Then get dad to do it for you," I spat.

"Oh, Tweek." My eye twitched at her odd little giggle that just sounded downright off. "Your father knows coffee, not cars."

We stared at each other for a moment. It was when she blinked that I said, "Just go inside."

After making sure to watch her leave, I went back to Craig and stood beside the open hood. He was still working diligently, toying with tubes and wires that had an incomprehensible use to me. The chill in the air kept him from breaking a sweat, but there was dirt clotting beneath his nails. It was looking at me and I didn't like it.

I'd have to make him take a shower and then he'd have be naked in my bathroom. I'd have to clean his nails for him. I'd have to make sure he brushed his teeth. I knew that he didn't want me to, but I was going to ask Stan to bring over some of Kenny's clothes. I'd have to wash his own.

"You should go apologize," Craig said, reaching for something in the engine.

"W-what?" I was startled that he'd spoken at all.

"Are you not aware of how much attitude you've been giving her?" My stomach dropped nauseatingly. "Like just now and last night."

Had I offended him? _Sweet Jesus, what if he finds me unattractive now?_  "I..." He glanced up at me and I flushed angrily, worries dispersed. "I'm not apologizing."

"Why wouldn't you?" He asked, retrieving an empty hand. He must've put something away instead of taking anything out.

"I don't know," I grunted, unhappy with our conversation. "Why would I?"

Craig looked at me, inspecting my features for something before returning his gaze to the engine. "Because she's your mom."

"And I'm her twenty-year-old son. She doesn't get to decide to who s-sleeps on the couch. She doesn't get to make you do shit for her."

Again, he raised his eyes to glance at me. "She's your mom," he repeated.  _Yeah, she's my fucking mom. My forgetful, naive mom._  My growing fury must've been apparent because the next thing Craig said was, "All I'm saying is that she's acting like a mom usually does. She's got her quirks but she's got the same basic instincts that all the others do."

This wasn't something we were going to agree on. I could tell already. It was clear in the way that I saw her "basic instincts" as those needed for a teenage boy. "I highly doubt your mom would make me sleep on the couch.  _Your_  mom would let us go to your room and shut the door. Your mom isn't a s-surveillance camera."

"My mom doesn't care in the same way yours does."

"She pat me on the f-fucking head before she went inside, Craig."

"Tweek—"

"She's always treating me like this," I interjected. He didn't know where I was coming from but he needed to understand. "I tried to grow up one time! They wouldn't let me. My dad hasn't even realized it's been _years_  since I turned  _eleven_! I got Little Bear toothpaste for my birthday last year!"

He shook his head and laughed like  _I_  was the one who didn't understand, kept screwing around with the stupid engine with his dirty fingers. "Dude, my mom used to beat me with clothes hangers when I got into trouble. If I ever get a girl pregnant, my dad will rip the unborn fetus from her uterus."

Body tense with frustration, I gestured wildly and screamed, "She wanted you to sleep on the fucking couch!"

For first time, Craig rolled his eyes. It didn't feel good being the one to make him do it. "Is that what you're upset about?" His impassive tone made me flinch and the part of him that never went into dramatics made me feel childish. "I wouldn't have minded, Tweek. I would've slept on the couch."

 _You would've slept on the floor and wouldn't have cared_ , I wanted to say. What came out in its place was: "But I didn't want you to. I wanted you to sleep with me."

"And that's where the problem is. You're not seeing this from your mom's perspective " he explained. "You're her  _son_. You're always going to be her baby. That means she's going to be unfair sometimes because she's trying to protect you."

"I know!" I snapped, thrusting a hand through my hair. Of course that's what she wanted to do. Mothers were like that. I _knew_  that.

"No, you don't. You're not getting it, dude. Am I being too vague or something? You're  _gay_  and you  _like_  me. We came over with  _hickeys_  on our necks and she  _saw_  them." Heat rose to the surface of my skin, prickling down my arms and the back of my neck painfully. I hadn't even thought about the hickeys. "She does  _not_  want me sleeping in the same bed as you, Tweek."

His point might've made sense and I might've just been stubborn to argue with him, but there were details he didn't know and things my parents hadn't noticed. The fact that I've been waiting for this—for  _him_ —for eight years was just the start of my reasoning. It was within reach. I could obtain it and I wanted it. Obstacles weren't an option.

It was obvious that he was right, even more so when I had no valid argument and tried to ignore his justification of my mom's behavior. "So she had you come out here and work for what? To warn you or something?"

"Oh my God, Tweek." Craig raised his arms and ran his hands through his hair, completely indifferent toward the grease on his fingers. I was distracted by the clenching muscles of his stomach and biceps, forgetful for a few seconds that we were even having a debate. "When I woke up this morning, I  _offered_  to help."

My brows knit together in confusion. He hadn't needed to do that. Why had he wanted to do that?

The anger whooshed out of me, creating a nonexistence puddle around my feet. It leaked into the asphalt and ran along the concrete of the sidewalk like rain during the wet seasons. There was a helpless look on my face that I couldn't control and I said, "But I...I can't do anything for you back. Y-you're doing this" —I motioned weakly toward the car— "for n-no reason."

Craig cocked his head to the side and laced his fingers behind his neck, evaluating my deflated state. "I don't want you to do anything." But that wasn't what I wanted to hear and he knew that. That's why he sighed and said, "I did this for you. Your mom doesn't want me to take you away, but I am, so I'm bonding to make up for it."

My heart's never pounded so hard. I could feel my pulse thrumming through my body. That was undeniably the sweetest thing I had ever heard. "That—you..." I couldn't accept this. He wasn't allowed to be so nice and get this version of me in return. "I want to do something for you, too!"

There were plenty of tasks he could've given me. He could've told me to give him a blow job. I could've been guilted into giving _Kenny_  a blow job. It would've been funny, something to split the tense mood encompassing us.

"You can give the dogs a bath," he suggested in humor's place, taking care to soften the tone of his voice for me.

"The dogs?" What if I drowned them? I'd only ever washed myself and Craig's hair before.

"Yeah." He was serious. He trusted me with something like that. "You can help Clyde's woman out the next time she cleans them."

I felt my mouth twitch in the beginnings of a smile. Tentatively, I looked up at him through my lashes, seeking forgiveness as my cheeks blushed furiously. "The first time you took me to your apartment, P-Pretty Lady was giving Julibee a bath."

"She was," he recollected, lips curled into a smirk. "I took in two dogs that day, I think."

So that was what he thought of me as? One of the dogs?

Easing forward, I reached up and slowly unwound his arms from his neck to put them around my own, mindful of the grease and dirt. His skin was warm from working. "I went home eventually, though."

He nodded, looking down at me with his remarkably vibrant eyes.

And then he said, "If circumstances were different, I'd say you wouldn't have had to."


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three

_There is no beauty without some strangeness._

—Edgar Allan Poe

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Craig was naked and in my bedroom.

He might've been wearing a towel but—fuck—he was naked.

"Tweek?" Stan's voice was coming through the speaker of my phone, registering in my ear but not my head. "Tweek? Hello?"

We had been in the middle of a conversation, but not anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

His hair was pushed away from his face, currently soaked and resembling black tar—sexy black tar. He looked better shirtless and clean than he did shirtless and dirty. The towel around his hips was nearly useless, sagging low enough that his happy trail had become particularly prominent.

I was reminded of that time in his room when he'd given me my first orgasm and wondered if seeing me wrapped in a towel like that had left him with as little control as I did now, blatantly staring at him like I was. There was no restraining myself as my eyes visually devoured him, an act that caused my body to heat up over his enticing image. It was a rather stimulating view that I had of him. He was still slick with fresh water, flushed from the humidity.

As he noticed me ogling unabashedly, he smirked and sauntered over. I watched him move, entranced by the slight sway of his hips and quirky, long-legged swagger. Although they were already a bit parted, he kicked my legs aside to make room for himself. My hooded gaze traveled up the expanse of his skin before connecting with his own lowered eyes. The dark, heady expression on his face made my phone slip between my fingers and land on the bed next to my thigh.

 _You are by far the most tempting man that I will ever encounter_ , is what I thought to myself. And later in life when Craig was still all that there was for me, this would become fact.

"What?" He teased, tone like pheromones to my ears. A spark of interest coiled through my body. "Too much for you?" The shake of my head was lacking conviction.

Slowly, he reached for my hands and took them, placing them against his abdominals. My touch was firm because of him and his instruction. His flesh was as warm as it looked, smooth when he made me cradle his hips and curl my fingers around his waist.

"S-stop it," I said, contradicting both myself and him when I only removed a single hand to grab my phone. Stan was still repeating hello on the other line.

It was supposed to center myself when I leaned my forehead against Craig's stomach and inhaled deeply. But clearly I was terribly mixed up, because all I managed to do was fluster myself further. His fingers laced through my hair, palm a steady presence against the back of my head, and he held me right there.  _Right there_. My mouth was so close to his dick it wasn't even funny.

"Hello?"

"Can you just bring those clothes over?" I ground out, attempting to sound normal.

"Tweek?" Stan's voice was thin. "Are you okay?"

"Who are you talking to?" Craig asked.

"Was that Craig?" My eyes were closed tightly as I tried to categorize everyone and their questions. "Oh, come on, dude! I don't want to be on the phone with you if you two are getting nasty with each other."

"W-we're not! I swear we're not!" I cried.

"You were getting naked" —how ironic— "when you weren't answering me, weren't you? What the fuck, man."

Highly embarrassed, I groaned and pressed my cheek against Craig's stomach. "We're not d-doing anything!" I was too worked up physically to be able to handle the heat provided by his body and yet I didn't move. I let it soak into me. "His crotch is in my face and he's only wearing a towel! How else do you e-expect me to react?" Stan's sudden silence left me instantly humiliated because during the seconds where he didn't respond, I realized what I had just said in front of Craig.

_Jesus fucking Christ. Seriously?_

"So...you just want me to bring over some of Kenny's clothes, right?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Preferably something in blue. Craig will look good in blue."

I hung up the phone and tipped my body backwards until I hit the bed where I shook my head regrettably. Embarrassment of this caliber just fucking sucked.

"That was cute of you," Craig crooned, crawling onto the mattress where he balanced on his hands and knees above me. I liked him on top of me; I like him baring down on me. He shouldn't have been doing it in a towel and I shouldn't have been imagining what he looked like without one, but he made me so weak in situations like these. It was impossible to ignore him as he eased onto his elbows and nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck, stray wet locks leaving damp streaks across my cheek.

His breath puffed warm against my skin, each one causing my heart to thump erratically. I raised my hands to gingerly trace the sides of his torso, thoughts of paranoia and that we shouldn't be doing this coursing through my head. He placed a chaste kiss against my throat, and that one small touch made my pulse stutter.  _This isn't supposed to happen_ , I tried to think to myself.  _Not in my room._  My mom was just down the stairs and I'd be too distracted to hear her if she came up.

But Craig's lips were traveling across my jawline, occasional kisses leading him to where it was that he wanted to go. I was distraught by my body's own submission as my neck arched to give him more room,  _permission_  even. My fingertips skimmed across his back where they clung to his shoulder blades and pulled him even closer. He settled himself lower to accommodate my unconscious request, tongue following the underside of my jaw before nipping at my chin. His mouth hovered above my parted lips and I was aware of them, unbearably so. Their presence was making me shift beneath him, anticipating our kiss.

Before I could brace myself, he flipped us over so that I was strewn haphazardly on top of him. The shape of his body became apparent to me as it molded to my own, the angle of his bones and stretch of lean muscle. There were soft ridges and hard edges to his figure and I could feel each of them through my one measly layer of clothing. He laid his hands over the backs of my thighs, just beneath my butt, and held me against him. I inhaled quickly, fingers tangled in his hair just as he hiked my body higher.

 _You're stupid_ , I berated myself, mouth unconcerned with this thought as I descended upon Craig. _You're so fucking stupid._  His lips were soft and plush, immediately ensnaring me and I couldn't stop myself from pushing down on him to force our proximity closer. He had to have been as impatient as me because his tongue was quick to slip between my lips. Heat bubbled inside of my stomach, matching the temperature of his mouth.

The roll of our tongues was slippery and evoked a familiar sensation that I only ever associated with Craig. My stomach clenched and my thighs shivered. He made my clothes feel bothersome despite the ever-present modesty of my character. I was making out with him in my room while my mom was home when I had already warned him  _and_  swore to myself that this would never happen. Stopping was just really fucking hard when he had to go and grab my ass, squeezing and grinding our hips together.

A satisfied hum left my mouth and slipped into our kiss, quickly erased by the tugging of his teeth against my bottom lip. I kneaded my fingers into the roots of his hair and tugged. He adjusted his grip on my rear, hand sliding beneath the curve of my butt. The push of his palm created a steady rocking motion. My pulse fluttered at the slight friction between my thighs as I let him control the movement of my body. Craig was good at this and knew what to do, seemed to know what I liked, or maybe it was just that everybody liked the same thing. Whatever it was, it felt good.

"Holy shit!"  _No. Please, God, no._  "I never thought I'd live to see the day!" My head jolted in the direction of that voice where Thomas was laughing belligerently while thrusting against the door. Stan was standing next to him with a hand over his eyes. "Tweek was humping!"

I groaned and dropped my head against the bed, a burning in my cheeks, and tried to decide which was worse: Thomas's excitement or how that could've potentially been my mom.

Both made me want to cry.

Crawling off of Craig, I curled into a mortified heap beneath the covers and stayed there so I could finally die.

"Why are you hiding, Tweek?" Thomas asked. He must've jumped across the room because he landed on top of me like a fat boulder. "I'm not going to lie, dude. That was hot." Whimpering, he added, "Why don't you ever hump me like that?"

"Because you're not Craig Tucker," Stan answered.

"You guys!" I shrieked, throwing back the covers to reveal my frustration. Amused sniggering came from the right of me. I narrowed my eyes at the epitome of my crush who'd just finished buttoning his jeans. "Don't encourage them, y-you ass."

He gave me this knowing, teasing look. I was prepared to go even redder when he surprised me by lamenting and changed the subject. "These jeans are a little tight."

Not that that was any better.

Thomas giggled and said, "I thought Tweek would appreciate that particular pair." Well, I certainly did recognize them. "He always comments on Kenny's legs when he wears them, so I'm sure he'll like them on you even more."

"Oh?" Craig mused, smirking down at me. "How about it then?" He turned to face me and held his arms out at his sides.

The wash of the jeans was a dark blue denim, noticeably tighter than what he usually wore. They were slender and straight legged, accentuating the subtle curve of his long legs. When he turned around to give me a view of the back, I made a futile attempt to not look at the way his butt was being hugged.

I'd almost gotten some of that ass, too...

But then Thomas had gone and interrupted us. I'm sure Stan would've patiently waited it out downstairs, unlike my awful choice of a best friend. I wouldn't have ruined  _his_  moment, and honestly, I never have. There were plenty of times where I could've, but I hadn't.

"What's the verdict going to be?" The golden blonde wondered, pelvic thrusting me a few times to get my attention. I frowned and buried my face into my pillows. "And he's got a boner!"

Mother of God. "I don't have a b-boner, dude!"

My body jerked around until Thomas had effectively been knocked off. Reaching out, I grabbed for Craig and lugged him onto my bed. He sat down on the edge, half-hidden by the hoodie he was still pulling over his head.

"I'm g-going to clean your nails," I warned him, taking up a file in one hand, one of his own in the other. The grit gathered beneath them was becoming too much for me to disregard and I needed something to do to calm my anxiety.

"You haven't taken your medication yet, have you?" Craig asked. He'd detected the barely perceptible tremble in my fingers. I feigned an idle shake of my head. He watched me for a moment longer, a moment where I diligently focused on one particular nail, before asking, "Can I get it for you?"

Sighing, I murmured "No, I'll get it," and made to get off the bed.

Craig got up before me.

"But—" He left anyways, his tall figure in dark clothing disappearing out the door. I was partly defeated, partly perplexed. Thomas let out a muffled snicker. "What?" I snapped.

Stan was sitting beside him. The two were wearing identical expressions, something knowledgeable and delighted.

"He wants to take care of you," Thomas cooed.

Grumbling incoherently, I blushed and raked the pointed end of the file under one of my own nails.

"So he stayed the night, huh?" Stan inquired, quirking his brows at me. Did that mean he approved?

"Y-yeah. Last night was the second time."

I must not have sounded very elated about it because Thomas asked, "And that's— _bitch_ —not the best thing to ever happen to you because?"

"Uh." I took a quick glance at the door to make sure Craig hadn't returned. "I found my mom working Craig this morning."

"Damn!" Stan whooped. "He's just getting it on with all the Tweaks, isn't he?"

Rolling my eyes, I continued with: "I think my mom knows what's g-going on. She didn't want him sleeping in my room, b-but I made him. When he woke up, I found him fixing her car." At that, a wide grin spread across Stan's lips. "H-he said he offered to do it himself but—what? Why are you smiling like that?"

"No reason," Stan sniggered. "Craig is just so cute."  _He is?_  That...hadn't been what I was expecting. "Nice dick, too. Totally flashed me and didn't give a shit."

"I told you!" Thomas exclaimed.

"I hate both of you s-so much." But I was laughing, so it wasn't like I was upset.

"I'm serious! If I didn't want to vomit every single time I looked at him, I'd put my mouth all over his penis," Stan assured me.

"Hey." I pointed at him in a pitiful imitation of threatening. "Save that shit for Kyle."

"So you  _do_  want Craig all to yourself," Thomas noted, tawny eyes glinting in what I mistook as teasing.

In actuality, he was being mischievous.

And I fell for it.

" _Yes_ , I want Craig all t-to myself."

His eyes flickered toward my door, followed by Stan's.

_Fuck._

It was obvious who had decided to show up.

"Did you  _s-seriously_  just do that to me?"

Thomas nodded his head, biting his lip to contain the majority of his laughter. At a loss of how else to react, I turned my head to face the man who I had just claimed as my property. He was leaning against the door cupping a selection of my pills and a mug of steaming coffee.

"I figured out how to work your coffee machine," he said, raising the full glass as proof.

"It's going to t-taste like shit if that was your first time," I forewarned.

"Nah," Craig disagreed, stepping further into my room. "Your mom helped me make it."

"Stop walking around with hickeys, goddamn it! I can't pretend s-she's clueless when you do that!"

He shrugged and sat down in front of my crossed legs. "Don't worry about it. She offered to buy us condoms."

My jaw dropped. "No, she didn't."

"And I was like" —at this point I was expecting something along the lines of 'does it look like I got the AIDS to you?' but instead what I got was— "thanks, bitch."

My eyes widened. "No, you didn't."

"She's coming up right now to talk to you. These two should probably leave." He jerked his finger toward Stan and Thomas. I could literally feel the terror splintering across my features, distinguishing itself against my shocked exterior. Craig cracked a grin. "I was just fucking with you, dude. Are you really gullible enough to believe I'd say that to your mom?"

"God—fuck!" One of my fists connected with his shoulder, the one that wasn't holding the coffee. "Don't d-do that!"

"I can still go back and make fun of you for wanting me  _all_  to yourself instead."

"Don't do that either!" I whimpered, extending my hands for the things he had.

Craig was giving them to me as Thomas asked, "You were told that we're all hanging out today, right?"

There was going to end up being a permanent scowl on my face. "No."

"Well, we are."

"Hookah tonight at seven-thirty. You two are going," Stan said.

Around a mouthful of pills, I looked at Craig and asked, "Then d-do you want to put in a shift at the coffeehouse with me? It'll p-pass the time." Anything to get him away from my mom for the day.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four

_Little kids draw pictures of the ground, the sky, and space in between. If you ask them what the in-between space is, they say, "That's where we are."_

—Ed McCullough

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

"Alright. So where do you want me to start?"

"Whoa there, buddy." Giggling, I laid my hands against Craig's back and rubbed his shoulder blades. "Don't get t-too hasty on me. You haven't even put your apron on yet."

He gave me a look from over his shoulder. "I've never been more ready in my life."

I snorted at his eager certainty. "Craig, I don't know cars and you don't know c-coffee."

We were standing behind the counter at the coffeehouse in front of the espresso machine. Both of us were on shift. He's never been more ready and I've never been so excited. I've had dreams of this day before. I guess I'd just forgotten to mention them when we'd had that conversation about "hot and steamy" fantasies.

But of course none of them were going to happen. We weren't allowed to be promiscuous in my house and we definitely weren't allowed to be promiscuous at Tweak Bros.

 _Especially_  while I was working.

"Are you kidding me? I've listened to you talk about this kind of stuff for hours. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Clucking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I backed away and held my hands up to let him show me just how well he'd listened.

The first step he took was to fill a compartment of the espresso machine with cold water and place the cap on top. "M-make sure it's secure," I warned. My mouth closed as he gave me another dead stare, grabbing the filter holder that the coffee grounds would go into. I watched him pack in the correct measurement, unable to withstand saying, "Do it lightly."

Craig sighed as he brushed off the excess grounds and set it inside the machine. He grabbed a cup that he put beneath the spout and turned the machine on. As the coffee steadily shot into the cup, I leaned closer to see if there was a brown foam brimming the dark liquid. I was pleased when I saw that there was, and suppressed a smile when Craig had to ask, "When am I supposed to stop?"

"When the foam turns white," I chirped. Except it already had, and Craig quickly jerked his hands away. His speed kept me smiling as I turned the espresso machine off and took the one ounce shot from him. The sip I took was bitter, sharp and satisfactory. As I nodded my head, he grinned at his accomplishment.

"What was that about me not knowing coffee?" He teased, finally taking the green apron off the counter and slipping it over his head.

My brows rose. "What was that about asking me if I could get Stan to bring over some of Kenny's clothes?" Before he could say anything, I added, "What? What did you just say? That you're a wuss?" I made a sound like  _ah_. "It's okay. I already knew that."

"The next time _anything_  of the sexual kind transpires between you and I" —he stepped closer, looming above me— "I'm giving you blue balls."

"Not if I give them to you first," I chided, lips curled into a malicious grin. " _Craigifer_."

His lips pursed and for a few seconds, all he did was stare. Neither of us noticed the bell above the door sound, signaling the arrival of a customer. We were too consumed in battling each other with our eyes, and even though it hurt to look into his frozen irises, to see myself reflected in his enlarge pupils, I didn't break contact.

"Boys?" My dad inquired. I jolted at his voice and swung around to face him as inconspicuously as I could. In no way had I just been flirting with Craig in front of him. He jut his finger in the direction of the door, the one I should've been paying attention to. "Have you been gone for so long that your hinges are rusty?"

I murmured "N-no, sir," and turned to face the front of the store. One of our weekly regulars had come in, gaze focused on the menu above. She always ordered something new.

Leaning into me, Craig whispered, "I could grease up those rusty hinges if you'd like."

" _Shut up._ " I elbowed him in the stomach, idly aware of his avoidance of my limb as the woman who frequented the coffeehouse looked at me and smiled.

Her eyes shifted toward the massive shadow behind me. "New employee?" She asked, taken aback. The only kind of workers here were Tweaks.

"He's just pretending." Craig pinched my back. "He sucks at it." He pinched harder and I had to smile through the wince on my face. "I'd fire him if he actually worked here."

* * *

Craig and I were walking back to my place from the coffeehouse. It was within walking distance, something that I usually took advantage of since cars tended to activate my anxiety. The weather was growing temperamental, a stronger breeze and a colder bite. There were clouds in the sky every day casting constant shadows over the town. It was dim outside, an odd sort of dusky dimness that made me feel as though we were in an alternate dimension. Things were almost  _gray_.

Objects were more vivid in this lighting, nature seemingly in focus where it hadn't been before. I almost felt like I'd put on a pair of glasses that I hadn't known I'd needed. Even the little animals scampering around had more definition to their feathers and fur. The color of the atmosphere stuck to Craig in the same way, dramatically enhancing the obsidian shade of his hair and highlighting his pale eyes.

They were the strangest and one of the most captivating parts of him physically. There was no outer ring to his iris, no difference in color. It was a true pigmentation, alienesque in how singular the icy color was. My own eyes were quite translucent but even I had a darker, mossier outline for normalcy and emphasis. He needed no embellishments, though. His eyes were striking enough as they were, and I liked them like that. The oddity attracted me and related to quirks of my own, comfortingly so.

I stepped closer to encase myself in his warmth, jealous of his hoodie but fond of him in general. The fabric of my shirt was thin, a simple plaid button up done to the top. Variations of color and pattern were what I wore to work most often. It was tucked into my jeans, the legs of which were cuffed, exposing my slender ankles.

"S-so how was it?" I asked, referring to the day at Tweak Bros. He'd been grumpy at me a majority of the time for not letting him make any beverages. I'd had to bargain with him to get him to drop his attitude, eventually satisfying him by allowing him to finish off nearly every coffee with toppings. His favorite had been the caramel drizzle because when no one was looking, he'd eat it. He also gave everyone extra cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, or cinnamon.

"Eh," he said. I pouted and bumped my shoulder against his arm. He had his hands in his pockets, at ease with walking down the sidewalk of his hometown. I wondered if he remembered walking Stripe down these streets, if he felt nostalgic at all. "It was alright, I guess. There's this kid that works there and he's pretty much the cutest thing ever" — _I see what you did there_ , I thought as we approached my house, blushing profusely— "but he's a big bag of dicks."

My laughter was instantaneous. He was so  _butthurt_  and it was hilarious. He'd called me the cutest thing ever, though.

"Oh yeah?" I giggled. Craig nodded his head. "That's funny, because there was this new guy that s-showed up today."

"I don't like him."

"Thanks for ruining it!" He ignored my pointed look, so I said, "I guess I won't tell you my honest opinion on the new guy then."

He gave me a look of his own. "I already know your honest opinion on the new guy."

"Craig!" We stumbled to the side as I shoved my whole body into him. It was the only way he'd budge. But I had this problem where once I became a klutz, there was no saving myself. That's why it only made sense for me to fumble over my own foot and then snag one of Craig's. Right outside my poor front door.

The bastard had the decency to save himself and not me. He let me hit the door and smack my face against it. It wasn't a hard hit, more self-consciously painful than physically, but then he turned the knob and watched me trip over the threshold.

"I'm not the only b-bag of dicks," I muttered, steadying myself against the wall. All he did was stick his thumbs up as he passed, heading for the stairs. Obviously he was still sour about the limitations he'd been forced to settle with earlier, and hastily I followed, distracted as I searched for my mom while I thought of a way I could make it up to him. A way that he would like.

There was no sign of my mom downstairs, though her car was outside so she had to have been home. Craig was laying face down on my bed when I entered my room. I was still unsure as to what I should do, but we had about half an hour before it was time to leave, and that was really the only thing that I knew.

Just as I was shutting and locking my door, my phone buzzed as it received a text message. Removing my phone from my pocket, I looked down at the screen and saw that it was from Stan. When I pulled it up, it read:  _We're going to have some company tonight_.

My brows furrowed. He couldn't have been shitty enough to invite Cartman. I didn't think Craig would stick around if that was who our "company" happened to be. The two disliked each other and I wasn't on much better terms with the guy. He constantly nagged me for my sexuality. Sometimes I liked to blame him for Craig's disappearance four years ago. Maybe if he hadn't been such a douche bag our whole lives, South Park would've been more bearable.

If anything, it was probably Butters. Even though he didn't smoke, he enjoyed going to the hookah bar. Thomas had most likely planned it that way just to get us three gay blondes together. Maybe he wanted to see if there was the possibility of an awkward foursome between us and Craig. He was like my own personal Clyde in the way that he would totally do that. But Butters took naivety beyond normal limits, so I didn't think a foursome was going to happen.

It wasn't like I was going to share Craig, anyways.

Because of that, I was reminded of something Thomas had said just recently.  _"Don't let him see you naked. Tease him with it."_  Maybe...  _"Slip some skin by accident. Build up the tension."_ Maybe I could work with that somehow.

My thoughts pilfered through anything that I could use to revitalize Craig's mood, all of them incredibly sexual.

The issue was that we were in my room. In my  _house_. There wasn't much we _could_  do, that I'd let us do, but it had to involve skin because as much as Craig liked to think he was pretty much asexual, he was pretty much  _not_. Anything that had to do with my body, he would like.

...

Had that just been a little chunk of confidence?

I had to pause and think about things after a conclusion like that, utterly startled by its unexpected appearance. Where did I even come up with these things? Craig really needed to stop getting boners every time we were together because it was clearly beginning to stroke my ego in places its never been touched. Bursts of self-esteem like that were unusual for me and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

This foreign emotion seemed to know what to do on its own, though. It contaminated my body and brain with a flirtatiousness I usually wasn't equipped with. It made me speak up on a topic I hadn't completely thought out. "Do you want to help me c-change my clothes?" I asked, shuffling backwards until my back met a set of folded closet doors.

"What are you? A baby?" Craig grumbled.

I rolled my eyes and said, "Fine. Don't take my clothes off." He sat up on his knees and looked at me with narrowed eyes like maybe I was lying. "What?" My question was reminiscent of his own from this morning. The one he'd teased me with while wearing nothing but a towel.

Suspicious, he investigated what must've been my questionable intentions, gaze like cold fingers digging into my eyes. As I attempted to hold our connection, I hoped he could see that I was sincere. Taken by surprise by my own forward recklessness, but sincere.

Only when he was satisfied with my honest motive did he allow his gaze to wander. I could feel it like I would his hands, slipping down my body from my neck to my thighs. He looked while I anticipated because he knew what I felt like and  _I_  knew that he wanted to. It was an exciting, suspenseful situation, one that made my pulse jog and breath quicken.

He took his time slinking off the bed, still assessing me with curiosity as he rose. His full height was overwhelming even from across the room, and as he sauntered over, I was both cautioned and captivated by the primal undertone of his walk. The vivacity in his eyes multiplied to the point that it was overbearing the closer he got and I was breathing heavy before he'd even reached me, palms pressed against my closet doors in expectation. I had only an idea of what was about to happen.

His proximity shadowed my figure as he stepped right up to me and raised a hand to fiddle with the collar of my shirt. Goosebumps spread across my skin, concealed by the fabric there. I was staring at his steady eyes that weren't looking into my own. They were looking everywhere else. I could feel them tracing over my limbs and following the curve of my thighs, causing my heart to stammer.

"You're going to let me undo all of these buttons?" He asked, voice surly with interest.

All I could do was nod dumbly as he started on the first one at the hollow of my throat. My gaze dropped to his mouth where his tongue came out and wet his lips.

"That's nice of you." His murmur was accompanied by the unfastening of my second button.

My thoughts raced to wonder if he could tell how fast I was breathing, whether the adrenaline coursing through my system was noticeable. He leaned closer on the third and dipped lower at the fourth, so that by the fifth he could maneuver his mouth around the button and pull it through the fabric with his teeth.

There was a catch in my throat at the undeniable attractiveness of his little stunt, but before I could even think in-depth about it, he'd nudged my shirt aside and ran his lips across my chest. His hands were framing my torso, locking me in place against his mouth, and he didn't let me fidget even when his tongue covered my nipple.

It was with wide eyes that I scrabbled to grab a hold of him, taking him by the shoulders. During my attempt to push him back, he'd started sucking and his teeth grazed my sensitive skin. There was a sharp feeling in my spine that made my back arch and stomach clench. My hands weren't forcing him away so much as they were tugging him closer now and I could feel him grin against my chest at my flimsy resolve.

Craig's mouth then went one way while his hands did another. His lips were sidling up my torso, reaching for my collar where he ran his tongue along the bone, and his fingers skimmed the length of my waist before meeting in the middle to continue undoing the last of my buttons. My arms moved to coil around his neck and I tipped my head to the side as he trailed his mouth over the spot behind my ear, the one that made me lose my conscious mind and think only with sensation.

He made contact and I sighed, drawn into his touch and the feel of his mouth. I tangled my fingers in his hair, a shudder whirling through my body as his palms slid down my bare belly. His fingertips slipped between my jeans and skin. Their obvious and yet subtle presence made me bite down on the inside of my lip. A tightness fisted the pit of my stomach as he worked the button loose and undid my zipper. His hands retraced my sides and wrapped around my back, steady and warm beneath my shirt.

Rising onto the tips of my toes, I pressed myself closer and felt the pummeling beat of his heart against my chest. My opened jeans caused them to sag far down along my hips, and my breath quaked, ricocheting off Craig's cheek as I turned my head to align our lips. At the rough touch of his mouth, we tipped backwards against my closet doors. The action made my jeans slip a little further and I shook my legs impatiently to remove them entirely.

Something about that must've set Craig off because I was suddenly sandwiched between him and the wall with such little space that it startled me. He grabbed me by the hips, fingers curling tightly around the bone. One hand dropped to caress my thigh and it lifted in tandem to his touch. He hiked my thigh onto the ridge of his hip, hand shifting against the underside of my leg where his palm ultimately reached my butt. I parted my lips to breathe and entwined our tongues, clenching his hair tightly.

I felt the lift before I comprehended it, but once I'd realized Craig had me in the air, I constricted his waist with my legs and declined my chin to better access his mouth. His reciprocation was immediate. He massaged my thighs, dragging his hands down and then dipping them beneath the last remainder of my clothing.

Squirming in his grasp, I moved my arms to loosely surround his shoulders. Our mouths began to kiss in a slow, delicate rhythm. It was soft but involved, noticeably intimate with different levels of emotional attachment. There was absolutely no way Craig couldn't feel the same things that I was in that moment.

Breathing became harder, but the difficulty made my head feel good and light. There was audible panting between each separation of our mouths, and the sound of that coming from Craig made my stomach bubble excitedly. He pushed my back flat against the wall and shifted his hips, pressed them up and forward so they could rub against my own.

Although the pressure of his body was enticing, I turned my head away and reminded him that we were in my room.

"I know," he grumbled, kissing my lips again and lingering there. My back ached to arch at the second roll of his hips. "But the door is shut. Your mom practically isn't even here."

 _She_  practically _isn't even here?_  The smirk I was wearing was because he sounded so needy, whiny even. "Be careful. You're s-starting to sound like you've got a little crush on me, Craigifer."

"I'll tell you that I am if you let me take my clothes off," he bargained, nipping at my bottom lip.

There was a slight plummet to my mood. I pulled my head back and looked down at him and said, "I want you to tell me that you have a crush on me because you mean it. Not so that you can give me an instant boner by getting naked."

Craig looked away from me and I might've thought he was ashamed, but sometimes I didn't know what to think when it came to him. I don't even think that  _he_  knew what he wanted to think.

"Okay." He put me down and readjusted the legs of my boxer-briefs. His touch tickled, but I had no laughter to expel. "Let's get you dressed and then we can go."

This time I sighed for a different reason. Craig just sounded so formal whenever I stopped us from...I didn't really want to call it fucking around, but "being intimate" came across as too strict. Was there a word that encompassed a little bit a both? I always stopped us from getting personal? I always stopped us from getting dirty? Fuck it—I always stopped us from doing all of those things and Craig always got this immediate, reclusive tone of voice with me.

He was in no way offended by my prude behavior. At least I didn't think he was. It was more like he became aware that he was being pushy and so he wanted to rectify his assertion by consenting to my bashfulness, but to an extreme. He went from wanting to take his clothes off—wanting to take  _my_  clothes off—to not even touching me. Like he was really trying to convince me that he understood and that we didn't have to go through this fast, which I appreciated—he didn't know how much I appreciated his ability to go by the slow pace that I unfortunately needed—but it was a withdrawn attitude that made me feel  _bad_.

I hated being self-conscious and uncertain of myself because I kind of think that he really wanted this. I mean—not  _this_. Just me. He really wanted me. Or, uh—my body. And I was perfectly fine with that. I wanted him to want my body. Craig was a good guy...he was a really good guy, and I wanted to put out for him. I just—fuck, I didn't know.

"Are you disappointed?" I asked, worrying my lip at his deflation.

"No," he assured me. "I..." We made eye contact where I watched him swallow before saying, "You don't think I'm pushing you, do you? Because I don't want to come across like I'm pretty sure I am." I had no time to tell him otherwise because he then added, "I just..." He scratched his cheek in what I knew to be a nervous gesture. My heartbeat staggered at this uncharacteristic hesitancy of his. "Hah, fuck. Uh. I want to do  _things_  with you." My brows shot toward my hairline. "And now I'm trying not to scare you by saying anything too straightforward. God."

Craig rubbed frustratedly at his forehead.

"Sexual things," he clarified. "And I'm not always suggesting that we go further to go further. Well, I am." He laughed at something unknown to me. "It's more like an offer. Because I don't know when you'll want to go...further." There was a lot of vague gesturing with his hands. "So I put it out there in case you do. Want to go further, that is." Oh god. This very unfortunate man. Listening to him attempt consolation or apology or whatever it was he was trying to do was painful. "And I know that you're uncomfortable with doing stuff in your room. Or South Park in general." Craig huffed and finished hurriedly. "I was just excited."

His hand moved to scratch the back of his head, and I smiled admiringly up at him. These unusual sides of him were the sweetest things. My voice was soft, understanding as it tread carefully around the fragility of his speech. "I didn't need an explanation from you, Craig." That didn't mean I wasn't flattered, though.

He wasn't embarrassed, but he did purse his lips and knit his brows before saying, "I just wanted to tell you."

As he stepped past me and tugged open my closet doors, I smiled even more and closed my eyes against the bright, intense feeling blaring inside my chest. It felt like the good version of bloated if there ever was one.

 _Craig is so cute._  Turning around, I placed my hands on his hips and cradled his sides. I stepped up to his heels and pressed my cheek against his back, aware of the warmth seeping into my skin and reveling in it. A lilting hum drifted from between my lips and my arms curled tighter around his slender torso.

I knew what he was looking at. I had an  _abundance_  of clothes and their organization was impeccable. Not one piece of clothing was without a designated place.

There were my shirts on one side, my jackets on the other. Both were color coordinated and hanging to keep away creases and wrinkles. A tower of shelves divided the two articles. They were filled with my multiple pairs of shoes and boots. Beneath that were drawers full of jeans and trousers, some cut offs and others brand name shorts. My ties and bow ties were displayed on their own individual racks, coordinated by color as well as pattern.

My closet was the only personality that I had and I loved it dearly. It was the one thing that I purposefully allowed myself to obsess over. I was proud of it, so proud that I had _wanted_  Craig to see it. What I hoped was that he would appreciate it, and I thought he would, because he knew good style and nice clothes.

Maybe he'd even be impressed.

* * *

"You're having me wear  _this_  to a hookah bar?" I asked, laughing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I was just giving him a hard time. I actually liked what I was wearing.

He'd put me in tight fitting trousers and a slim, pastel colored button up. It was done up to my neck and tucked in at the bottom. I think he liked my bow ties because he'd had me try on nearly every single one before deciding on a polkadot pattern. My shoes were suede oxfords.

"Shut up," he said, standing behind me as he straightened out my clothing. "You look adorable. You're going to get hit on so many times tonight."

"Because I t-totally want that," I muttered, staring at his reflection with subtle approval.

Glancing up at me, he smirked then returned to fixing me. "You would if I told everyone that I was your boyfriend and to back off."

"Yeah," I cooed, smiling dreamily. "I would." When Craig started laughing, my smile turned more serious. "Would you really do that, though? If someone came up to me?"

"I know that if you were ever hit on, you'd probably shit yourself. So if things happen to get particularly flirty, I'll step in, sure." He put his hands on my shoulders and winked at me through the mirror. "Plus, I'd feel bad for anyone who'd be interested since you only have eyes for me."


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five

_Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up._

—Pablo Picasso

Thomas's point of view:

* * *

I could remember that first day when Tweek had realized his crush on Craig, that initial spark of interest which had set off an irrefutable awakening of enlightenment. And I had been so goddamn happy because I'd been waiting for that moment. Tweek's denial and obliviousness had been the most insufferable thing. I'd no longer had to be the lone gay boy.

He'd been so fraught by his own emotions, frustratedly inquiring me as to whether or not his feelings were actually that of a crush or just false alarm. It had been the funniest conversation we'd ever had because after rambling about how he couldn't possibly like Craig—"he's a dude. He's a  _person_! I can't worry about crushes, I need to worry about my health!"—he'd clearly stated: "But he's just so  _cute,_  Thomas."

"Uh—yes, Tweek," I'd had to say. "You definitely have a crush."

The very next day after coming to terms with this predicament, Tweek had slammed head first into Craig himself.

It had only been the second week of school. Tweek and I had just began heading for the cafeteria through a hallway we hadn't yet been familiarized with and Tweek had run into him right there, got his first big whiff of Craig's scent as I liked to joke, and apparently he smelled like vanilla and cigarettes. Craig had said "Excuse me," polite despite the off-putting, ever-present nonchalance of his persona.

Tweek had never been so scared of an outside force before, and after getting away from Craig and taking me with him, he'd started hyperventilating in an empty classroom which had then caused him to cry because he hadn't been able to breathe.

We had been twelve years old at the time, new to puberty and fresh into junior high.

All the boys had been in the same unfortunate condition, though I distinctly remember Craig never being the awkward type. He'd always been proportionate—never having to grow into his feet or learn how to make his body cohesive with his walk. And while everyone around him came of age, tried to figure themselves out, he'd known exactly who he was the entire time.

Girls had thought of him as astronomically hot, and still did if Kenny's word could be trusted. The girls would whisper about him and giggle when he was near. I could never blame them. He'd been popular but uninterested. Craig had been the boy with long hair and pretty eyes. He'd hung out with all of the other astronomically hot boys, too.

So it was an anomaly that it took as long as it did for me to crush on him as well. I don't know if it was for me or for him that I did so, and Tweek had never minded because I never made a move. Part of me wouldn't mind getting with Craig Tucker, but another part might've been using that as an excuse to tempt Tweek out of his prude and conservative ball of timidity. I'd spoken quite vulgarly about Craig throughout freshman year in the hopes that Tweek would do the same.

Not once did he ever respond to my "talks" in the way I would've liked, though. He refused to acknowledge his crush in an intimate way. Once, I had asked if he wanted to hold Craig's hand. He'd said he did. Another time I had asked that, if he could kiss Craig, whether or not he would. He'd said to me he would. Anything more than that, though, and he'd glare at me. It was like in Tweek's world, the only sexual exchange that existed _was_  a kiss, and I think that once it occurred to me that I was getting nowhere with him, that's when I had decided to drop my "crush" on Craig.

In Tweek's head there were certainly some questionable scenarios, I was sure. He'd just always been too embarrassed to speak to me about them. It wasn't like I'd been seriously interested anyways. Craig hadn't been exclusive to me like he was for Tweek. I'd liked other guys at the time and even had a few boyfriends, but I would found myself circling back to Craig whenever those didn't worked out. For a while at least. All of my attempts to broaden Tweek's sex drive had ended up futile and sometimes giving up was more helpful than not.

That had been tenth grade, our memorable sophomore year. During that time, Tweek had finally admitted to a select few that he had been staving over a slight obsession with Craig Tucker. It had been three years already, but I hadn't been surprised. Tweek hadn't ever liked him for the same reasons everyone else did. He liked Craig for the things that stuck, the things that made a feeling like adoration unwavering. It was the delicacy entreated to Stripe and the narrowed eyes at the boys who gave his baby sister a good long look because she'd been a freshman at the time and Craig was surprisingly the protective big brother type.

It was my belief that Tweek was attracted to those qualities because he wanted to be handled with delicacy too. He wanted to be protected. Not by anybody, but by the guy who nobody expected it from. Everybody cared, it was just that Craig did in ways unusual to others. In a way that appealed to Tweek. Not only that, but he was  _capable_  of the protection he assumed.

There had been a fight one day near the end of sophomore year. Clyde had offended some guy by hitting on his girlfriend, and the guy had found it appropriate to beat it into Clyde the common sense that was supposed to come when regarding another's "property". It had been a good line at the time, and in the heat of the moment, everyone had interpreted it as the most threatening of warnings. Everyone except for Craig of course. After hearing that particular spiel, he'd promptly called out "bullshit" which had then set off the fight.

Craig had appeared entertained for what had seemed like the first time, and it had been funny to him up until Clyde's head hit the concrete. Craig kind of won by default since his entry had been uncalled for. That and he'd jumped in so fast. I can still recall the way he'd dove toward the guy and knocked him to the ground. Grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face into bits and pieces of gravel on the pavement; picked his head up and bent over, screamed in his ear, "You like that?" While Clyde had returned to his feet, Token had needed to pry Craig off the guy still saying things like, "Fuck you! Fuck you and your girlfriend!"

Tweek would never admit it, but he'd found it intense.  _Anything_  that Craig Tucker did was intense to him.

And by eleventh grade, it was just sweet how hard he was crushing.

Craig hadn't even known, but Tweek would make the most valiant attempts to please him. At one point he'd worked in the cafeteria and every day had managed to save Craig pizza when that was always the first meal to go. He'd distract their teachers when Craig was late and would sneak into class. One time he'd checked out a book from the library for a project which had coincidentally been the same one that Craig also wanted. Tweek had gotten it to him somehow and had failed his project, but he'd been so proud of himself because later on he'd overheard Craig talking about how good of a book it'd been.

Whoever couldn't tell by then that my poor best friend was yearning for an oblivious boy was a fucking idiot. Tweek would stare after him with a look of pure amazement as though he couldn't comprehend how a guy like Craig existed. It would be the softest, most fragile expression he wore. When Craig was Craig, he was happy. When Craig was something else, he responded accordingly. Tweek would set off like a firecracker if the guy so much as walked past him. And the rare chance that he happened to get  _glanced_  at—oh, he exploded.

Nobody had known, but we'd only get that last year with him. I'd been conflicted by the thought that both Clyde and Token would be leaving as well, but Craig was the one who mattered because  _he'd_  mattered to Tweek. I'd been referring to him as Tweek's for years by then, and that first time hearing the news had been the worst. "Did you hear?" Tweek had asked, and he'd been so sad. "Craig's moving."

And then four years had passed, the first of which I'd been terrified. Tweek's mental health had plummeted. He'd gone back to seeing Dr. Norris weekly and I hadn't known what to do. There wasn't anything I could say to an unstable boy that would return to him the one thing he'd unintentionally attached himself to, his one constant.

What brought him back had ended up being the coffeehouse. Something in there had turned him into a workaholic, but it'd revived him, so I wasn't about to question the cause.

For the past three years he's been under a steady rehabilitation, has even gained more health than that of which he'd had before Craig's leave. Sleep never repaired quite like it used to be, though. Tweek's always had a rough time with nightmares and insomnia. The dull rings around his eyes were a permanent reflection of that.

It might've taken a while, but we were twenty now, and while Kenny had been planning to take Tweek to see Craig, I had known the entire time.


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six

_The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box_.

—Henri Cartier-Bresson

Thomas's point of view:

* * *

"So," I chirped. Stan and I were waiting for our friends at the local hookah bar. It was composed of two stories: the bottom which was a store that sold shisha, hookah pipes, as well as salvia, and a second floor that was the actual bar. The room was dim, light receding down the staircase. The only source of light was from the colors playing off the walls and the heat lamps meant for the fish and turtle tanks.

Seating was mismatched couches, a variety of pillows, beanbag chairs and plush rugs. Subtle music cooed softly from speakers placed in intervals around the room. Smoke made the atmosphere foggy, noticeable in what little light there was. It smelled aromatic and sweet, a very vague taste.

"Has your— _fucker_ — _shit_ —opinion of Craig changed at all?" We were sitting on a couch and I had my knees pulled up, was resting them on top of Stan's thighs.

"Fuck no," he spat, fingers laced behind his head. "Kyle keeps going back and forth and it's pissing me off. Every time we talk he has to tell me what a terrible choice Craig is, but then he ends up saying something nice about him. Usually about his dick."

Quirking my brows, I said, "It's a nice dick."

"I'm not believing anything until I get a picture next to a ruler."

I grinned because his answer had come too fast. He was just butthurt about the half inch Craig had on him. "He'll show you." Stan frowned. "Tweek is going to be _very_  pleased one of these days."

"Yeah, I got that when he flashed me. I still don't like him," he grumbled after a moment.

"But Tweek does," I insisted.

"Yeah, I know." He was exasperated, his arms falling, hands hitting his lap. "Eight years and counting. I get it."

There was a pout on my lips as I asked, "Why can't you just be happy?" I nuzzled his shoulder with my nose. "This is the best time of Tweek's life. _Literally._ "

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's given me absolutely no reason to trust him, dude. Tweek is too vulnerable for him."

"Are we talking about the same person?" I started laughing because Craig was so ridiculously doomed. Kenny saw it. I saw it. Even Kyle was aware. Stan was just scared that if he let Tweek go and something _did_  happen, he'd have to take a fraction of the blame. "Because the guy that I saw was pretty vulnerable himself. And he was really into Tweek."

"Oh yeah?" Stan scowled. "The guy that I saw was all of the pain and suffering Tweek could ever endure all bunched up into one giant bag of douche."

I couldn't keep myself from cracking up. "Stan!" He stared at me humorlessly. "Come on. I'm trying to be serious."

Sighing, he rubbed at his forehead. It took him a moment but he finally said, "I guess Craig was being a little out of character for Tweek."

 _For_  Tweek. I smiled, satisfied. "You know that it's a four hour drive to Lakewood here and back, right?" It was weird knowing this because I never would've thought it could happen, but my best friend— _Tweek Tweak_ —was going to have Craig Tucker whipped. "Now I might be wrong, but I  _think_  that means they're gunna fuck."

"Yeah. That's what I'm worried about." The expression on my face was one of confusion. Stan scowled and muttered, "If all Craig wants is sex—"

"Dude. I just told you that the drive is _four_  hours. Craig clearly wants more than sex."

A spot of muted pink caught my eye and I looked toward the staircase at the new group who'd arrived. As recognition set in, a smile instantaneously brightened my features. There was a looming shadow behind Tweek, and as he stepped into the room, a pale hand reached out to loosely entwine their fingers. Tweek glanced over his shoulder and came back around with the most fantastic smile.

"Look who showed up!" I whispered excitedly, elbowing Stan repeatedly before rising onto my feet. Craig came into focus, and the sight of the two looking like a couple made me the happiest man—right after my best friend, of course. That, and _Craig_  had grabbed  _Tweek's_  hand.

Once Tweek spotted me, he hurried over. Craig resembled an off balance luggage bag behind him, head tossing around every which way to view the entirety of the bar. Idly, I wondered if he'd ever been here before. Although most hookah bars were lenient with age, he'd still left before turning eighteen. It was hard to imagine Craig as a law-abider, though.

As we all exchanged hugs, I noticed that the two of them refused to let go of each others hands. This was something that I'd rub into Stan's face later.

"I'm sorry w-we're late," Tweek apologized, bashfully giggling as he took a seat across from Stan and I. His cheeks were glistening. Both his and Craig's lips were abused and wet.

"Making out in the parking lot, right?" I guessed.

"No."

"Yes," Craig contradicted.

The two looked at each other equally straight-faced.

"Craig," Tweek whined.

"I don't know how you do it, dude. If I ever lied to Clyde, he'd beat me."

"That doesn't mean you get to tell the truth to  _my_  best friend."

Their bickering was so cute. Stan and I gave each other a look. I didn't care if he wasn't fond of Craig, there was just no way he could deny how adorable these two were together. They were such opposites.

Grunting, Craig diverted his gaze. It landed on me where he said, "We weren't making out. I don't know who the fuck did that to him, but I'm pissed."  _Aww._  Tweek must've been thinking the same because he leaned into Craig and gave him a gentle nudge. "No. You cheated on me."

"It's only c-cheating if you're my boyfriend," the blonde stated coyly.

My brows rose. When had he gotten so sly?

Even Craig cracked a grin. "Is that an offer?"

He must've known the answer he'd get because he wasn't disappointed or offended when Tweek cried out, "N-no!" He quickly reassessed his exclamation in a more hushed tone. "I mean—uh—I-It's not like I'd  _mind_  that or anything. Obviously."

"Of course you wouldn't." It was Craig's turn to nudge Tweek. The blonde tried to shrink into the back of the couch. "We're dating, dude. That's enough Craig Tucker for one little Tweek Tweak for now."

"Dating?" I barked, slapping Stan's thigh unintentionally.

"Dating?" He echoed.

Tweek ignored us and snapped, "So essentially what you're saying is that I only get some of you? Because that's all you think I can handle or what?" Craig dropped his head against the back of the couch. "I don't want what you think is enough." This was the most confrontational I'd ever seen Tweek. "Your enough isn't  _my_  enough."

Craig marveled over Tweek's spontaneous outburst with us in his own way which was to sit there and look nonplussed. "Okay," he murmured. "Do you want to go outside and talk or something? Because you're kind of fighting with me in front of your friends."

"I—" Tweek's embarrassment flared. Through the murkiness, I watched his eyes grow larger than they already were. "I'm sorry, Craig. None of that came out correctly, I just...uh."

"It's alright," Craig said.

"No, it's not." The blonde turned toward him and clasped his hand tighter. "I s-shouldn't have said any of that. I don't want to be like everybody else. I—"

Raising his head, the niorette asked, "Who is everybody else?"

"Everybody who..." Tweek glanced around, the usually eccentric color of his eyes contorted with shame. "People who pick fights about stupid things. Everything. Useless uh—just useless  _stuff_."

Craig's gaze was level as he analyzed Tweek, blue eyes striking as they shot through the smoke and shadows. "You like me," he said. "You like me a lot and it's not stupid or useless for you to want something more."

"But you never push me! A-and I shouldn't push you." Relationship-wise is what he meant I was guessing.

"Then don't." Tweek paused entirely and just stared at him. "You've gotten it out of your system now, so we're good, alright?"

He nodded vigorously, consumed by Craig's understanding and rationality. It was a hopeful thing to witness Craig tame Tweek's frazzled emotions. He'd kept the blonde so calm. It was a placidity that my best friend needed, a natural sedative that would always work, because whatever Craig said, Tweek would listen.

"Can we continue our date now?"

Again, the blonde nodded. He leaned over to kiss the others cheek and whisper an apology. Craig's eyes closed briefly as Tweek's lips made contact with his skin.

"If this were a date, you'd be wearing nice clothes," the blonde muttered indignantly.

A snarky sort of uplift descended upon Craig's mouth. It was an expression that no doubt belonged to a Tucker. "Here, just let me run down to Lakewood real quick and change."

Tweek pretended to appear unhumored. "By the time you're done with that, our date'll be over."

There it was again. The "date" word. I had obviously missed some crucial moments between these two if they were already  _dating_.

"You two are dating?" I asked, interrupting them because I seriously _needed_  to know. I was the best friend! Information like this wasn't allowed to slip by me.

"Oh—" Tweek had honestly forgotten that he had an audience. A very disgruntled set of two people. "We're uh..." His eyes flickered between Stan and I. Both he and I were awaiting an explanation, and I didn't know about Stan, but it had better be juicy. Juicy wasn't my best friend's forte, though, and he turned a look toward Craig as a plead for help. It was a smart move on his part. Craig seemed like the type who could successfully fill in the blanks with facts, not cryptic implications.

"We had a little date at Stark's Pond the other day." Well, I guessed it was safe to assume that the pond was now contaminated. When I began making sexual hand gestures, Tweek sputtered and Craig grinned.  _Yep_ , I thought. _Contaminated_. "We came to an agreement about some things, and then I said on the way here that the only reason I was coming was because I considered it a second date. So dating seems like an appropriate term."

My smile was insatiable. "Appropriate indeed." I turned toward Stan who appeared far less content in comparison to consult with him about just how wonderful this truly was. The look on his face was a bitter mixture of fake acceptance and a twinge of disturbed. I rolled my eyes, but at least he was  _trying_  to seem like he didn't mind their budding relationship.

Craig wasn't oblivious to this. He gave Stan a dead stare and said, "I get it. You're disgusted. Stop pretending and stop making that stupid face, it's pissing me off."

" _I_  can stop pretending?" Stan snorted even though Craig was right. My best friend and I glanced at each other warily. "Why don't you do the same?"

Tweek visibly flinched. It wasn't overlooked by Craig. "Get over whatever false expectations you have of me, Marsh."

"Sorry if I've only ever known you as a dick," Stan growled. "I'm just not about to let someone like Tweek go out with one."

"Well, that's funny. Because that's what he likes." Craig's nonchalance wasn't going to fix things like it had with Tweek, but I'd noticed that he wasn't the type to argue. He was just going to keep making smartass comments until Stan settled down.

The scowl marring his face made me feel uneasy, though. "I'm being serious, Tucker."

At the mouth of the stairs, two familiar figures caught my eye. One had a mop full of blonde curls, each with a frisky mind of their own. Her best friend had a thick mane of black hair, straight and never seen without some type of hat. It was a childhood habit she hadn't been able to let go. Today she was wearing a knit, gray beanie. Both were wearing matching sweaters.

They were searching the area as they approached, twin pouts displayed on either of their mouths. It must've been difficult looking from face to face in the dim room murky with smoke. I wanted to signal that we were accumulated in the back corner, but for obvious reasons I wasn't quite keen on doing that just yet.

Idly, I heard Craig say, "And I am going to get up and I am going to punch you in the face so hard that you shit yourself."

"You're going to have to try  _real_  hard if you honestly want what Tweek's willing to give—"

 _Jesus fucking Christ._  I wanted to soothe the tension before Bebe and Wendy arrived, and before any of this testosterone started punching the literal shit out of people. "Which is why he's inviting you to his bachelor party!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up high. It caught the girls' attention.

"No," Craig said. Tweek smacked his shoulder. "Fine." Immediately, he realized what he'd just agreed to and muttered, "Goddamn it."

"Hey guys!" Wendy greeted, followed by Bebe. All conversation was momentarily forgotten. The girls looked at Craig and swooned, bombarding him to pet his hair and ogle at his eyes, the same mess of giggles they'd been all throughout high school. And the entire time, he just took it. He let them push and pull at his face, smell his cologne, and sit in his lap as though neither of them were there at all. His expression was kept straight, eyes emotionally flat. It was like he could turn himself off on command.

"Do you still have that dimple?" Bebe asked, hugging his head against her full chest. He pulled away to flick his switch on and smile up at the two inquiring girls. A small indention appeared on his right cheek. Once he received an abundance of aww's and admiration, he became lifeless again. "Do you remember when Kenny was prom king instead of Clyde?"

He woke back up and laughed, dimple resurfacing. "Of course I do. Clyde was so upset that he cried. It was hilarious."

"And what's this?" Wendy asked, picking up Tweek and Craig's entwined hands. Bebe gasped, imploring for an answer as well as the two excitedly inspected their laced fingers.

While the explanation was retold, shortened now, hookah was ordered and bubbles as well. The bubbles were blown through a water bottle cut in half to make smoke bubbles that would pop in midair and disperse in elegant wisps and folds. Tweek had insisted that the flavors we get be rose and vanilla which were the same ones he got every single time because he liked consistency and was too scared to try anything new.

The blonde had a talent when it came to blowing smoke, and the rings he made were effortless. He could deal out an impressive amount within seconds, each one following the next without pause. I think he'd been more excited than the girls were when, unannounced, a circle that had not been his own shot through one of his. He and Craig had shared in a moment then, and it had been so cute watching them laugh as they blew smoke into each others faces. We'd blown smoke on the table and watched it hover there, blown smoke into cups and passed it on to let each other inhale.

Craig, at one point, informed us that he would be right back and removed himself from the couch. Tweek had asked where he was going, but received no answer. Not that they cared whether he was a safe distance away or not, the girls spoke up when Craig was out of ear shot and began to say things like: "God, did you see those lips?" and "Whoa baby, his  _eyes_." So it only made sense for me to respond similarly and specifically with "His penis, too!" Tweek looked at me like  _fuck you, Thomas._  "He's half an inch bigger than Stan," I explained.

And of course Wendy knew _exactly_  how big that was. I was sure that Bebe did, too. Nude-sharing between best friends and all. "There is no way that he's a Tucker," Wendy declared, the tip of the hose between her lips. She sat back mock-grumpy and inhaled while glaring at Stan. "Why did I ever go for  _you_? I should've just got with Craig."

Our topic of conversation returned, nearly illusive through the fog fumigating the bar. He was carrying two sodas. "I got you something," he said to Tweek. There was a disgruntled undertone to his voice. "You have to touch my butt to get it, though. It's in my back pocket."

Turning around, Craig stuck his rear into the blonde's face. Tweek laughed out of surprise and pat one cheek while reaching into the pocket of the other, pulling out a package of candy.

"What is this?" He asked, cheeks dusted pink. I could tell that he was flattered even though he had no clue what he was holding.

"Candy blocks." The way Craig sat down had him situated so that a portion of his back was laying against Tweek, his head on my best friend's shoulder. "You can build stuff with them. Like legos."

"A-and I can eat them?"

Craig nodded his head. "You can color coordinate them." I smiled because Tweek loved to color coordinate things. Was that something the brute had picked up on his own? "They're different sizes, too. So you can organize them like that if you want. Or both."

"Thank you," Tweek murmured, and he sounded so ridiculously charmed by this simple gift, expelling gratitude in excess.

"So I did good?" Craig yawned and grinned when he felt Tweek nod repeatedly.

Leaning into Stan, I whispered, "I can't believe Kenny's missing this."

It was assumed that Craig had permanently passed on his hose because he began to nap after that, resting against the blonde with even breaths. He seemed like the type of guy who liked to sleep and could do it anywhere. After a while, his body went limp. His hands dropped off his stomach and one of his feet slipped off the couch.

"Is he always so goddamn adorable?" I asked, eyes crinkled in fond amusement.

"Pretty much," Tweek murmured, idly fussing with the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. There was a shy smile practically blotting out the entirety of his features. "I-I didn't know he had it in him, either."

Stan gave him a look. "You had to have known something was in there. Why else would you have liked him?"

"Uh, because he was hot?" the blonde blatantly stated.

We all burst into laughter because of how serious he'd been. Craig  _had_  always been a good looking dude, though. Kyle couldn't deny it and Stan wouldn't either.

Midway through a conversation about Halloween, Tweek abruptly came across as startled. He focused on Craig momentarily, just watching, registering something. He snuck his hand into the man's pocket and pulled out a phone. He tapped the screen a few times, frowned, and typed something out before locking it.  _Oh my God._  They were on a you-check-my-phone-I'll-check-yours basis.

"Hey." Tweek shook his shoulder to jar Craig from his nap. "Wake up, y-you fuck." He could change so violently from awed—staring curiously at Craig's sleeping figure with an unconscious smile flitting past his lips—to this: still frowning and shaking the other even after he'd heard Craig groan and awaken. "It's time for you to go home. Clyde's pissed."

"Right now?" he grumbled, unperturbed by Tweek's slight hostility. One of his arms reached around, hand grazing the blonde's calf before caressing it completely.

"Yeah. Just look at your phone. He threatened to come get you himself."

Craig grunted and flopped down onto Tweek's lap, opened his eyes and blinked up at him. "Okay."

Tweek sifted his fingers through Craig's mess of dark hair. "Up," he instructed.

He did as told, reminding me that I had something for him and another that I wanted to do. "Oh, wait!" I reached into my bag and pulled out two things: my camera, and a picture. It was the one with Tweek sitting on the floor with the kittens. Craig had liked it, so I thought that I'd give it to him and replace it with a new one. The timeline wouldn't make sense, but my reasoning was an excusable exception. Also, I might've just wanted to put a recent picture of Craig on my wall because he was just so cute.

The two were sitting up next to each other when I held the view finder to my eye and told them to get ready. They had the time it took to take the picture to smile or moon or whatever they wanted to do to the camera, and I'd had no idea what they'd chosen—blinded by the flash—until I clicked the playback button.

It was just about the cutest image ever. Craig's arm was around the back of the couch, and I think they both must've leaned in to give each other a kiss on the cheek and accidentally bumped noses, because they wore identical scrunched smiles on their faces. The kind one got when they thought,  _There's no way we both just did that. Haha, you are so cute_.

I'd get shit for doing so, but I handed Craig the picture of Tweek with the kittens. "Here."

"Fuck yeah." He took it enthusiastically and grinned in a way that subtly showed his dimple. "I was secretly hoping you'd give this to me. We're on the same wavelength, dude." He motioned between his head and mine.

I laughed, pleased with myself and pleased with his response.

The blonde was flustered when Craig turned toward him and pecked his forehead. "Walk me to my car?" He suggested.

And oh, did I know what they were going to do in that car.


	57. Fifty-Seven

_Layer by layer art strips life bare._

— Robert Musil

Tweek's point of view:

* * *

Our location wasn't something that I was aware of, just that we were on a bed. I didn't think it was his, there would've been waves if it were. So maybe it was mine, and for whatever reason, I didn't mind if it was. My parents weren't on my mind. There was an apathetic confidence in my subconscious that reassured me they wouldn't be around.

I could feel his hands on my body, fingers sliding between my thighs. He was pressed against my back, encompassing me in his warmth. A delicious fever was flickering wildly beneath my skin. The rotation of his hips against my rear made his arousal obvious. My boxers were damp with sweat and precum, and I imagined that his were in the same condition.

My hips rolled backwards, brazenly rubbing against his crotch. I fisted the bedspread and shivered at the low-toned moan it evoked from his sweltering body. It was a sound that rumbled from his chest and vibrated against my back, a breath that connected with my skin and nearly made it melt. He started sucking on the erogenous spot just behind the shell of my ear, the place he'd targeted before, leaving a mark similar to the others haphazardly placed around the flesh of my throat.

He pushed the fabric of my boxers up my thighs and tangled our legs together, palms kneading and teasing the sensitive parts of my inner limbs. My back arched, causing my ass to shift firmly against the strain of his erection. The pressure encouraged him to thrust forward, immediately turning his heavy breathing into steady panting. I was turned on by the repetitious noise and mewled at the clench of my stomach as more heat was deposited into my gut. As though he knew and meant to overstimulate me, he slid his hand into my boxers and wrapped his fingers around the hard length inside.

A choked noise came from the back of my throat as he stroked my shaft, and I didn't know where to go, conflicted on jerking against his palm and backing up to feel how hard this was making him. I wanted to do everything and experience all of him but I didn't know how. This wasn't fair and his fingertips were grazing the tip of my erection and I could tell that his own was prodding at my behind and God I just wanted to  _feel_  him. His body had done this to me, enthralled and seduced me.

It was my own body, not my mind, that delegated how to react and I reached my hand around to grab his hip and pull him flush against me. The slight collision thrust me into his fingers just as I felt his arousal slip between my thighs. Moaning, he moved his arm to wrap it around my chest and ground his hips against my ass. He made the most attractive sounds and then made another as I matched one of his short thrusts. They were guttural and heady, drifting through my ears and enticing me further.

The more he rubbed against me, the tighter my grip on his hip became. I started to rhythmically tug him forward, mind consumed with the pattern and body with sensation. It was reoccurring enough that I lost myself in it, unable to think straight about anything besides how good this felt and how much my erection was throbbing, but even those thoughts were hazy.

His hand dropped down to my waist, fingers warm and constant. The thoughtless moment it took for me to realize what he was doing was nothing but pleasure and heightened feeling. Lewd sighs and strangled moans pilfered from my mouth. He was drawing my butt backwards in time with his thrusts, a motion that made my arousal swell. I had to bury my head against the pillows, sucking on my bottom lip as the pressure built.

"Craig," I panted, breathless and wet-eyed. This was becoming too much.

He groaned in response, muffling the gravelly noise against my hair.

We each had control over the other, pulling and tugging and grinding. There wasn't enough breath in my lungs to stave off the lightheadedness in my brain, and there was something about it that made everything feel just that much better.

"Craig—Craig." Rationality dwindled away as I began moaning his name profusely, my voice a shameless whimper. The rotation of my hips was needy and the heat in my crotch felt like it wanted to explode.

On the cusp of a full body spasm, my conscious flung me back to reality and my eyes flew open just as my orgasm erupted a cacophony of white-hot sensations inside of me. My eyes snapped shut; I arched and rolled against my bed with the imaginary feeling of Craig behind me and his dick pressed between my cheeks. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't even make a sound, entire body tense with immediate pleasure.

I was huffing into my pillows, fingers wound tightly through my sheets as that rapturous burst of physical ecstasy simmered down to mindless thoughts and a pleasant tingling. It was a boneless feeling, the pulse in my veins like a massage to my nerve endings. There was a sense of relief from just being able to lay there and breathe.

The knowledge of what I'd just done didn't take long to resurface. Essentially I'd just molested my mattress. Craig had been gone for a single day and I was already humping my bed to thoughts of him. If he ever found out, he was going to be stoked that I'd finally had him in my fantasies. Which has  _never_  happened before. I have  _never_  orgasmed in my bedroom or my fucking house in general. My only sexual experiences were what I've done with Craig.

How had I gone from timidly approaching his penis to humping my bed because in my dream the bed had been  _him_?

" _Shit,_ " I hissed, covering my face with my hands as I wondered how many of those noises I had actually made. _Way to go, fuckass._  "This sucks!" I couldn't even feel  _dirty_ , too satisfied to go beyond mild embarrassment and peeved fury. "This fucking sucks!"

In a fit of anger, I grabbed my phone and dialed Thomas's number. I had no idea what I planned on doing, but I needed to do something besides lay there in my own puddle of semen. Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I stripped off my boxers and gathered it up with all of my sheets. I didn't even care if my parents caught me walking around the house naked. All I wanted was to wash off the evidence.

After a few annoying rings and only once I was out the door, Thomas picked up. "Bitch—fuck—dick—hello?" He didn't like it when I woke him up for midnight calls. "I thought we were over this," he grumbled. "You stopped calling me every time you dreamed about your own ugly ass years ago."

"That's not what I'm t-talking about."  _Not really_. I winced. Technically he'd been right.

I padded softly down the stairs and directly into the laundry room.

"What is it then?"

 _Jesus fucking Christ._  I really hadn't planned on explaining the situation to him. "Forget about it. Forget I called."

Before I could hang up, he cried, "Dude! You did not wake me up for buttfuck nothing."

Funny he should say buttfuck. I threw my clothes into the washer and turned the dial to the right setting, adding soap and shutting the lid. Because I'd almost just buttfucked my fucking bed.

As I headed back up to my room, I said, "Nothing. It's embarrassing."

"You're always embarrassing yourself." I glowered at his statement and shut my door behind me. "What's so great about it this time?"

"Can I just h-hang up?" My rage was beginning to douse and humiliation was taking its place. I started toward my bathroom to maybe wash off some of my embarrassment.

Thomas scoffed. "Fuck no."

"Fuck—fine. Just hold on." I set my phone down on the sink and turned my shower on, switching it to pour hot water. Stepping under the spray with a washcloth, I patted myself down while distracting myself by thinking about how strange it was to look at my crotch and now know exactly what it was capable of. What I needed to figure out, though, was how to phrase this wet dream to the golden blonde. I wasn't good at talking sex, and frankly, I'd never really had to.

Once a small layer of steam had built up inside the bathroom, mirror slightly fogged, I shut off the water, stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist. I had to dry off my hand, ear, and push my hair aside until I was positive I wouldn't water damage my phone before picking it back up again.

"Thomas?" He was there. I could hear him clicking around on what I figured was his computer.

"Did you just take a shower?" He asked.

"Uh... y-yeah."

"Hmm." Me and my blush flopped down onto my bed together. "I'm just going to wing it with this one, but you didn't happen to get a boner because of talking to me, did you?"

His half exaggeration, half joke wasn't helping. "...N-Not quite."

"Oh?" Beginning to understand the source of my call, he sounded significantly more chipper. "What happened then?"

"You k-know that I'm not going to s-say it," I snapped.

He giggled at my flustered retort. "Okay, then. I'll make my guess as juicy as I possibly can."  _Holy fucking shit, please stop doing this to me._  "You were in the middle of fingering yourself when Craig sent you a sexy nude and you creamed all over your phone so you—"

"Thomas!" I slapped a hand across my mouth at the volume of my scream and hoped any previous noises hadn't been as loud. My best friend was laughing hysterically on the other line. "Damn it, Thomas. This isn't funny. I practically just had sex with my bed! In my  _sleep_ , dude!"

There was the quick beat of silence before his laughter came hurtling back. "Awh, dude!"  _No, no, no. What are you doing?_  "You had a wet dream about Craig? Finally! Oh my God, this is just the sweetest thing. I am so proud of you right now! How was it? Was it awesome?"

I... was incredulous. "No, it wasn't fucking awesome!"  _But really it was._

"Come on, man! I tell you about— _cunt_ —my wet dreams all the time!"

Seriously?  _That_  was his argument? "Thomas."

"Okay. Whatever," he grumbled, noting the seriousness of my tone. "Don't entreat me to your first ever Craig Tucker fantasy."  _I'm not_ , I wanted to say. "So what's the problem?"

"Thomas!"

"Whoa there, buddy. Isn't Craig going to be upset" — _Oh shit, I totally knew it. Oh God, I'm gross and dirty_ — "if he finds out you're calling  _my_  name now?"

" _Thomas._ "

"What?" He exclaimed, exasperated.

Sighing haggardly, I rolled over onto my back and threw an arm across my eyes. "I—I took advantage of him in my dreams, dude. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Uh, nothing." I really hoped he knew that I was glaring at him houses and streets and phone calls away. "Wet dreams happen all the time to everyone."

"But—"

He cut me off saying, "No." My brow furrowed. "And I can guarantee he's had some  _exceptional_  wet dreams about you seeing as he's  _far_  less naive than you."

My heart shuddered inside my chest. " _N-No_ , he hasn't." But what if he has? What if he's orgasmed in the same bed we slept together in to thoughts of  _me_?

"You don't think so?" I shook my head though nobody was around to see it. Not that I did either, really. It was more reflexive than anything because I was still focused on make-believe images of Craig touching himself in his bedroom. "I guess I'll just have to bring it up the next time I see him then."

For that, I hung up on him. He would laugh to himself about it until he passed out, which was unfortunate, because he was being dead serious. I'd have to keep him and my crush away from each other to ward off any conversation pertaining to wet dreams. I certainly didn't want it getting around that I'd had one, especially not to Craig and not that it was about him.

It happened on its own, the next text in which I sent to him. He was probably knocked out by now.

_Craig?_

I fell back asleep without ever getting an answer.


End file.
